


Starstuck Chronicles: Prologue

by idiosyncraticWordsmith (literaryAspirant)



Series: Starstuck Chronicles [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Action, Gen, Intrigue, jedistuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryAspirant/pseuds/idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The galaxy is in a tenuous peace. The Republic and Empire stare each other down, elements on both sides begging for an excuse to go to war and destroy the other. Yet despite this chaos and danger, there are those who seek to help and serve the galaxy. These are the stories of those brave champions, in only a single moment out of thousands where they show just how heroic they are. Jedistuck AU, actual Star Wars canon is pretty irrelevant, so you don't need to know a lot about Star Wars to understand what's going on. Anthology of short stories showcasing the kids in this AU in their element.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It is a time of unrest in the galaxy. The brutal Empire of LORD CALIBORN lurks in the Mid Rim, its denizens subjugated beneath the joint rule of the Emperor and his Sith allies, led by the insidious DARTH SCRATCH. The Galactic Republic’s borders brush with the Empires, creating flashpoints and sparks of conflict as individual nations enter civil war over their allegiance to either side. 

In the midst of this chaos, the noble Jedi and heroic Republic Navy, along with their allies, seek to maintain peace and order. Even in the Galactic Senate, led by SUPREME CHANCELLOR CALLIOPE, voices speak loudly for freedom and democracy against tides of corruption and appeasement. Still, the question remains of if these efforts can protect the Republic should one of the treaties keeping the peace be broken.

Among these fighters of freedom and peace, though, there are some champions who stand out in their service. Acts of bravery, cunning, and dedication set them apart, and while they are diverse in background, their service is to the galaxy as a whole. These are the stories of those very acts, only one out of thousands performed by these bold heroes, upon whom the fate of the galaxy falls...


	2. The Privateer

“Alert: Starship presence detected. Profile matching Imperial scouting patrol. One light cruiser, two frigate-class, three corvette-class.”

The vaguely effeminate computerized voice stirred the dark-haired man at the helm from his sleep. He wore a plain blue shirt under a black utility vest. A few hours ago he had just jumped to hyperspace for his next mission, and decided to get some sleep in the time between the last system and this one. Now, however, it seemed like nap time was over.

“Have they spotted us?” He asked groggily, trying to assess the situation through his exhaustion. He hadn’t slept for 18 hours by the time he fell asleep, and would’ve been glad to _keep_ sleeping. But if the Empire was catching his scent, he’d have to take the two hours he had gotten.

“Negative.”

“Good. Power down systems and -”

“One moment…”

Well, shit. He knew what that meant.

“Sensor wave detected. Location compromised. Alert: Imperial ships altering course, new course converging on this location.”

“Well, son of a… OK, engage auto-pilot, maintain current trajectory, third-shift velocity. Open hidden compartments four through seven, once they’re closed, engage sensor shielding. We’ll play nice,” he commanded. If he could hide the contraband he was carrying and make it seem like he was just a private transport, he could probably walk away nice and quietly. No need to draw attention when you were smuggling Republic goods in Empire space.

“Yes, Captain Har-bert. Auto-pilot engaged. Hidden compartments four through seven, open. Sensor shielding priming,” the computer responded. Jon was already out of the cockpit headed for the cargo hold.

Captain Jon Har-bert was a talented privateer, but it took talented privateers to even have a chance at sneaking through Imperial space, especially border worlds like these. There were patrols everywhere, and there wasn’t a parsec not in range of their sensors somewhere along their routes. His main hope was catching systems when their patrol groups weren’t around, but without intel on patrol routes and timing, that didn’t always work.

“Case,” he called out, hauling crates of weapons and other goods for local resistance movements from the hold to the hidden compartments, “let me know when they’re getting close, OK? Like… a ten minute warning.”

“Yes, Captain Har-bert,” the computer responded. The Computerized Astrogation Service version 3.3, or CAS-33, was Jon’s onboard virtual assistance, and frequently his only company, since he didn’t keep a permanent crew. She had been a life-saver dozens of times, and even though she could drive him crazy with frustration at her limited programming, her company kept him sane on long trips away from people.

He stashed more goods, double checking his cargo log, perma-deleting entries off of the main log to keep prying eyes away from it. He wasn’t keeping track of everything he was moving, just that it was moved. The people he was delivering to wouldn’t care for logistical formalities, they wanted a chance to fight back against the people who were robbing them, beating them, and crushing them beneath the Empire’s boots. And the Republic wanted to give them that chance, and they wanted him to bring it to them. He wasn’t a soldier - in fact he had been rather on the wrong side of the law for a while as a smuggler - but his sister's vouching for him got him a position as a privateer plying his trade for the good fight.

Of course, running from Republic law enforcement was a lot more low-risk than smuggling through Imperial space and violating an international treaty or two.

When he was a bit more than halfway through lugging the crates, he suddenly felt the ship lurch, nearly losing his balance and dropping a crate of grenades in the process. Steadying himself, he looked around for a moment, but saw no alerts indicating any kind of impact.

“Case?” He asked. “What was that?”

“We have been targeted by a tractor beam, sir,” CAS-33 answered. Jon swore to himself.

“How long before we’re boarded?” He asked. He needed at least another five minutes to finish moving everything, close the compartments, and make it seem like he was totally innocent. He thought it odd that they hadn’t tried to hail him to figure out what he was doing - but then again, it was the Empire. They didn’t ask a lot of questions. Or, maybe it had to do with the communications array. It had been on the blink for a while. He kept meaning to fix that...

“I calculate six minutes until we are loaded into the tractoring vessel’s bay. Perhaps another minute before boarding,” she answered. He sighed quickly and got back to work, rushing while making sure he got it done right. A slip up would mean detainment at best, an international incident at worst, if they found out he was on the Republic’s payroll. He had to start thinking ahead to if things went sour. His first issue would be the tractor beam. The second problem would be any Imperials on board during any attempted escape.

He had a solution to one. He’d have to wing the other.

“Hey Case, do me a favor?” He called out, moving one of the last crates.

“Yes, Captain?”

“You know that thing we brought on a few docks ago? Stitched it onto the ion drive? The, the, you know, the thing, shit, what was it called…?” He alluded to.

“Yes, Captain. I know what you mean.”

“Prime it.”

“It will take some time, sir.”

“That’s a hundred percent fine, Case, just get it started,” he retorted, stashing the final crate and shutting the compartment. Just then, the ship shuddered again.

“Sir, we are loaded. Boarding imminent.”

“Perfectly timed. When the thingamajig is primed, gimme a green light, OK?” He ordered, wiping his brow as he made his way over to the loading ramp to meet Lieutenant whoever and schmooze them into thinking he was a civil law-abiding civilian just trying to make his way in the world. He stood over the ramp and hit the button to drop it before assuming a position in the middle.

He must have timed it well, because there was an Imperial officer walking up with a squad of troopers behind him. Their dark green armor and skull-like helmets marched behind the officer’s white uniform as they approached the ship in the hangar bay. Jon straightened his vest and put on a smile.

“Hello, there!” He greeted. The officer approached with not so much as a grin.

“You are the captain of this vessel?” She asked.

“Yes, yes I am, I assume there’s some kind of problem?” He inquired innocently.

“First and foremost, your ship is not in our records as registered to any approved ownership or management. Second, you failed to answer our hails when we attempted to contact you. As per protocol, you must subject yourself to a search and inquiry or face temporary detainment. Do you comply?” She asked crisply, reciting every word as if memorized from a script - which it realistically could’ve been. That was one of many issues Jon had with Imperials: no breathing room. Or a sense of humor, for that matter.

“Of course, ma’am! I’m sorry for not answering your hails, my communications array must be acting up again. I’ve been meaning to fix that, hopefully this run will give me the credits for it,” he tried to explain. So it  _was_ the comms array acting up... he couldn’t be caught on that, at least. The officer raised her eyebrow.

“Run? What kind of run?” She inquired. Obviously she suspected he was a smuggler - duh, otherwise he wouldn’t have been tractored in.

“Oh, deliveries! I’m just a courier from the rim, ma’am, I carry people’s goods from place to place, sometimes passengers if they’re willing to take less than comfortable board,” he lied. Well, he was a ‘courier’, but he wasn’t from the Outer Rim, he was from Anaxes in the Core Worlds. Deep in Republic space.

“I see… then I suppose this search will go quite easily then,” she remarked, signaling for her men to follow her as they boarded the ship, one of them carrying a scanner wand to search for contraband.

“Yes, ma’am, no issues at all. I’m just sorry I caused a fright and wasted your time, really,” John mentioned. The officer ignored him as she investigated the ship.

The _Heir of Breath_ was rectangular, with a common area in the middle and four rooms around the commons’ corners that housed communications, med bay, a spare storage hold, and a droid storage unit. There were two additional wings on either side that housed the cargo hold on the port side and the dormitories on the starboard. The cockpit was at the very front, with the engine room in the back, which fed into two engines on both sides. The troopers examined every hallway and glanced into every room, and the scanner was waved around the walls and floors.

Which was fortunate, because the hidden compartments were in the ceiling. They never thought to check the ceiling.

Jon followed the troopers around, just begging for that green light to go off and get out of here before they either found something suspicious enough to hold him or decided they didn’t need to find anything. The Empire had no civil liberties - any illusion of them, like this search, was more for sparing time and resources from being put to pointless ends. But if an officer decided it wasn’t pointless, that was all it took to bring him in.

“What is it you’re carrying, Captain?” The officer asked, not really looking at him.

“Droid parts, ma’am. They’re all there in the cargo hold,” he answered. That was the cover the Republic gave him and he was sticking to it with the crate upon crate of parts in his hold.

“What kind of droids?” She pried, still walking around with him following.

“Oh, just your usual kind, laborers, protocol, utility, nothing too special,” he offered. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Nothing military?” She pried further. She paused, still not looking at him while a few of her troopers seemed to gather to start at the two of them.

“...No, ma’am, nothing military, I don’t carry anything that, uh… risky, that’d be illegal,” he answered, maintaining his cool. The officer nodded once, curtly.

“Illegal, yes, and you obey the law, yes?” She asked. His bad feeling intensified ten times. He mentally screamed at CAS-33 to turn those greens on.

“Of course, ma’am, I’m not looking for trouble,” he responded.

“Then why is it, if you are not looking for trouble,” she answered, before stooping down and holding up something spherical, turning to face him for the first time,“that you have a singular plasma grenade on the floor of your ship? Which, allegedly, is not carrying military grade materials?”

There was a pause. Jon saw troopers training their blaster rifles at him, and hear two behind him do the same. There were five aiming at him and three more on the ship elsewhere, plus the officer. He’d have to get off of this cruiser, away from the tractor beam, and out of this system, dealing with nine Imperial boarders all the while. The lights weren’t on yet. Jon held his palms out but down low in a defensive way.

“Now listen,” he started, “I have a very good, very rational, very logical explanation for that, all I ask is that you listen to me and hear me out and I can prove that I’m innocent of any charges.”

The officer raised an eyebrow, eyeing him amusedly. “Is that so?” She asked.

The light went green. A moment of confusion at the sudden light. He took advantage of it.

“Nope,” he declared.

In an instant, he yanked his blaster pistol out of its holster at his hip and blasted the officer in the chest, causing her to drop the grenade. He was aiming for her face but hey, he wasn’t complaining. He immediately ducked down and shifted left before rolling forward and right, avoiding the hail of fire from the rifles trained on him before sending more shots at the three troopers in front of him. He put two down before dodging more blaster bolts with a lean right and a roll forward, before ending up directly in front of the other trooper and blasting him right in the face. Ignoring the other two troopers behind him, he dashed for the cockpit.

“Case! Close loading ramp! Do the thing! Do the thing!!” He shouted as he rushed for the controls, shutting the blast door behind him to give him time as he tossed his pistol aside to pilot the ship.

“Doing the thing, sir,” CAS-33 responded, just as he remembered the thing’s name.

Solar Wind Emulator. It produced a kind of fake solar storm, distorting any kind of energy field surrounding a ship, from tracker waves to ionization. It also happened to disrupt tractor beams.

As he shot the ship out of the hangar bay, the solar windy thing tore the tractor beam off of the ship, giving him control again. He set the engines to max sublight speed to get away from the patrol fleet, setting hyperspace coordinates for some random system to hop to in order to lose this new heat.

Suddenly, he heard banging on the door, before hearing blasts against it. The blast door was magnetically sealed so they couldn’t open it normally, but he couldn’t just stay locked in the cockpit. He’d have to deal with the last five troopers cornered. Fortunately, he still had plenty more tricks up his sleeve. He picked up his pistol and put the ship on autopilot, letting CAS-33’s evasive protocols take over to avoid the fleet’s turbolasers, before pressing a finger to the ship’s intercom.

“Listen, listen, boys, listen. I know you’re angry at me for lying to you, and also killing your friends, but listen to me: I’d be more concerned about the three other guys on the ship that are getting ready to corner you,” he spoke into the microphone. He looked over at the camera for the hallway outside the cockpit. Sure enough, the troopers were looking at each other confusedly. One more push.

“You didn’t really think I’d be smuggling without a crew, or take on nine Imperial troopers by myself, did you?” He questioned. That did it, the troopers paused for a moment more, and he knew he had them.

He walked over to the blast door and opened it up to the sight of five troopers facing away from him, prepared for three hostiles that didn’t exist.

Boom, boom, miss, miss, miss. Two out of five hits wasn’t that bad, right?

They turned around, and he slide to the right gracefully to avoid their shots. He came out, and hit two more, before ducking down to avoid another bolt, before taking a shot.

Barely missed. He needed to work on his aim.

He took another shot, before the trooper could realize that he was still alive, and this time, Jon made sure he never got that chance.

He stood back up and holstered his pistol, shaking his head at how messy that was. He should’ve double checked the ship for anything that had fallen out. He should have aimed better. He should’ve done a lot of things better. But now, what was done was done, and he had to get out of here. He looked back and saw that while there were carbon marks around the console, the controls themselves were unhurt. Thank the stars - he’d be in a bind if he had to fix them on the run from Imperials. He sat down at the controls and took the wheel back from CAS-33, but he was already getting out of range for most of the turbolasers. As long as he jumped, he’d be safe.

“Case, how’s hyperspeed looking?” He asked.

“Co-ordinates entered, jump vector calculated. We are ready to jump.” CAS-33 replied. She was always taking care of things for him while he was busy.

“Good,” he replied, allowing himself to relax, “get us out of here. I could use another nap.”

As the streaks of hyperspeed filled his vision, Jon Har-bert reclined in his chair, thinking about how worth it this trouble would be when he got to his destination and saw those people seeing a savior come with a chance at freedom. He had seen it plenty of times - people, desparate for even a sliver of a hope, suddenly being handed a blaster rifle or a grenade or a medkit and suddenly realizing they had a shot. A shot provided for them by good, decent people a hundred parsecs away, and hand delivered by a smuggler who wanted to make the galaxy a better place, one run at a time. It would be worth any kind of trouble to get to be that smuggler.

Jon smiled to himself as the adrenaline left his blood and lulled him into new exhaustion, staring contently at the dark blue tunnel of hyperspace, never ceasing to be amazed and comforted by the sight.

Oh yes. It would be worth it.


	3. The Guardian

In the dark alleyways of Coruscant, a hooded figure walked as the rain overhead poured down onto the streets of the sprawling city, the sound of traffic never too far away.

It was a far cry from the quiet peace of the Jedi Temple, but the Knight who now walked outside of its halls was grateful for the chance to be there. He had spent the past year and a half in the Temple, being told that he was simply being held until there was a mission felt appropriate for his skillset. But he knew that it wasn’t a matter of a lack of work or troubles worthy of Jedi attention - the galaxy had plenty of problems that would warrant a Jedi. Coruscant alone had its fair share of social illnesses - a city that covered the entire planet meant a planet’s worth of crime and corruption. Of course, the ruling doctrine of the day among the Council was that Jedi were peacekeepers, not law enforcement officers, and so most of Coruscant’s problems went without the Jedi giving much of a glance to them.

Except, of course, when it was the Jedi being targeted by the crime.

The Knight frowned underneath his hood as he walked down the alleyways towards the rendezvous point in his brown-and-red robes. It struck him as hypocritical and unbecoming of the Order for the Council to be so selfish, so haughty as to ignore the plight of the people until it was _their_ plight, as well. But he was in no position to make complaints against the Council - the fact that he was made a Jedi Knight was considered by most to be graceful on their part, considering the circumstances surrounding his training and his master…

He shoved thoughts of his master out of his mind, replacing them with idle contemplation of the fall of the rain. It was one of the few lessons he felt was still in alignment with the Jedi teachings that his master taught him: when unwelcome thoughts intrude, turn your focus to the outside world. And thoughts of his master were most unwelcome.

He finally turned and saw a collection of people, seven of them, gathered around. They were all dressed in rags, but his training in perception told him that they each carried hidden blaster rifles in those rags. Yes, there, those subtle bumps and folds where neither skin nor clothing should be, where nobody would notice or think to look, yet still easily enough drawn. He also could tell by the subtle rigidness of their clothes that they had armor underneath those rags - but again, it was contoured in such a way that only the perceptive could tell. They noticed him, and one of them, a squat man who was likely their commanding officer, approached.

“You the Jedi they told us about?” He asked quietly, his voice somewhat droned out by the rainfall.

The Knight nodded. “My name is Dayv, of the Jedi Guardians. You are the Coruscant Security Force team?” He responded quietly. Guardians were the sect of Jedi who focused themselves on the active destruction of the dark side and its elements, and focused on lightsaber combat more than anything else to pursue that goal. They were not typically interested in the mysteries of the Force or any solution beyond breaking their enemies with their martial skill. For this reason, they were considered the closest thing the Order had to 'soldiers', though they still adhered to the Order's pursuit of peace. They just did it more forcefully than other sects.

The officer simply nodded. “Yeah. Sergeant Wayve, CSF Special Operations. These are my officers, we’ll be your chaperone tonight,” Wayve joked. Dayv walked down the alley a bit to the corner to look out at the building they were focusing on, Wayve following him. One of his men called out.

“Hey, you miss the memo? Casual clothes, nothin’ formal!” He bantered. Dayv ignored him. CSF Spec-Ops had protocol telling them to practice subtlety. Jedi had no such protocols - he wasn’t here to be subtle, he was here to take care of Jedi business.

Besides. He had an image to keep.

“What do we know about this place?” Dayv asked, ignoring the taunt.

“Hideaway for a small-scale smuggling ring called the Sun Thieves. They mostly operate in the Core Worlds, where there’s plenty of contraband to carry and credits to make,” Wayve explained. He spoke in a gravelly voice - Dayv detected a subtle bit of electricity in it, probably a voice synthesizer in his throat to help with damaged cords. Glancing at his face as a lightning flash illuminated it, Dayv saw that he was a real veteran with a few scars. He wondered what kind of fights he had gone through during his time in the force. Maybe he was even former military.

Looking back at the building, Dayv began assessing the situation more critically, trying to think it through a little bit. He had a knack for recklessness and was trying to live that reputation down. Along with almost every other reputation he had from his time under his master… but one step at a time. Right now, he had a mission to focus on - thinking about his master would not be of assistance here.

“How many are we expecting?” He asked. Wayve shrugged.

“If we had more time to do a stakeout, we’d have a better number. As it is, we don’t know. Probably no less than fifteen or twenty, I’d say,” Wayve offered. There was a bit of resentment in his voice - the Order had a vested interest in retrieving certain artifacts these smugglers had procured as quickly as possible. The CSF wanted to wait, but Dayv pushed for a quicker reaction. He didn’t want to see those artifacts slip through their fingers. Honestly speaking, he mostly wanted a chance to prove himself.

“I’m sure it’s nothing your men and a Jedi Guardian can’t handle,” he remarked. He heard someone coughing behind him. Turning back, he saw one of the CFS officers. Specifically, a Twi’lek female.

“Nothing your officers can’t handle,” he corrected. When he turned back to Wayve, he was giving Dayv a bemused look.

“You haven’t been doing this long, huh?” The officer asked.

“Doing what long?” Dayv asked back.

“You know, this. I dunno, bein’ out of that big monastery, doing things,” Wayve explained. Dayv merely stared at him. He knew exactly what he meant as he straightened his robes - and he was right in his prediction - but he still didn’t want anybody to know that. Image was too important to him. He looked back at the den, and drew his hood back, exposing his pale white hair and red eyes. “The little albino,” his master had called him. He had considered it a term of endearment. In light of last year’s events, he wasn’t so sure if it was meant that way. He wasn’t sure of much.

He shoved those thoughts aside as he shrugged his robe off and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. They were a cred a dozen anyway and he wanted to impress the officers. He walked closer to the edge of the alley and closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force.

 _Thirty of them. Focused in the front. The sides and back were nearly empty. Subtle entry was possible there. Wait. Two of them. They will walk from the back to the front along one of the sides. Being caught there would remove surprise. Enter from other side and back. Establish perimeter. Surround them. Scare them into submission_.

He opened his eyes. He had a gift for intuition when it came to the near future; it was something that the Council was very interested in, and perhaps one of the few things he had going in his favor. He turned to Wayve.

“There will be an opening on our right. Send your team in through there, and up that alley around the corner there will be a back door. There’s about thirty in there, but more than twenty in the front room. The back is nearly empty, you can take them out quietly. Then you can take them from the back,” Dayv advised.

“And what are you gonna be doing, Master Jedi?” Wayve asked, using the honorific somewhat ironically. Dave turned back to the building.

“Walking in the front door,” he answered, walking forward. He thought he heard derisive comments about damned Jedi cryptics behind him, but ignored it.

He heard footfalls behind him as he approached the door, and walked in as he sensed Wayve and his team form up. He opened the door and stepped inside.

It was dim, but visible. As predicted, there was a whole crowd of people in there. None of them were wearing any kind of armor, but he saw that they each had blasters. They all looked over at him, pausing in whatever activity they were doing, leaving several of them standing there with crates. He looked around and counted quickly. Seventeen on the floor level, with another eight up along the catwalk. He had slightly miscalculated. Time to roll with it.

“I understand you gentlemen have recently procured some especially interesting historical artifacts,” he started. “Artifacts with a value to rival certain entries in the Jedi Archives and its more ludicrous collections,” he went on. Many in the Order raised eyebrows at his tendency to ramble on in elaborate analogies and metaphors. The smugglers just stared at him.

“I was hoping I could take a look at them?” He prodded.

“Hey,” one of them called out, “are you a Jedi or what?”

Dayv sighed. “Yes,” he answered, “I am a Jedi. And I would like -”

“It’s a Jedi!” The smuggler shouted, “Blast him!”

And just like that there were blaster bolts in the air. Dave ripped his lightsaber from his belt and activated it, the blue blade swinging through the air, deflecting bolts left and and right with sweeping strokes. He was hoping to stall long enough until the Spec Ops team showed up, and maybe mind trick his way to the artifacts before the smugglers ended up being busted, but that plan was out the window now.

He assessed the room, and noticed a number of smugglers standing in a rough line. Dashing his way forward towards them, deflecting bolts along the way, he slashed through one, two, three, four, five, six smugglers in a row, before pushing three more back into the wall with the Force. When he saw that they did not get up, he racked up nine of twenty five smugglers down, which left him with sixteen. There were a _lot_ of blasters being shot at him, and he was now underneath the catwalk, which was _not_ an advantageous position to be in. The smugglers started forming up and circling him, cornering him. Their blaster fire was concentrated, and it’d only take a few seconds to get past his deflecting. He was so focused on moving his lightsaber that another Force move would be both difficult to concentrate enough for and also render him wide open for a bolt to hit.

Fortunately, it was at that moment that bodies started falling from the catwalk, and four CFS officers, two from each side, entered, with the other three presumably on the catwalk. They opened fire on the smugglers, who were too focused on the Jedi to notice until they were significantly thinned. By the time the last smuggler went down, the three on the catwalk had descended to the floor level. Most of the smugglers on the ground were groaning and still breathing - the officers’ own rifles must’ve been set to injury levels, not to lethal. Which was good, because Dayv still needed those artifacts, and that required a living smuggler. Dayv deactivated his saber and stashed it back in his belt, and looked up to see Wayve approaching.

“I’m just gonna assume you meant to get cornered like that,” he cracked with a smile.

“Of course. A Jedi is a tempting distraction,” Dayv replied. It was true enough to count as true for a Jedi.

“Yeah, clever,” the sergeant replied sarcastically. “I guess I should be thanking you, anyway. I was expecting more casualties. Not so much as a wounded, thanks to your, ah… help,” he continued. Dayv nodded.

“A Jedi’s life is sacrifice for others,” he recited.

“Right, right,” Wayve replied, uninterested in Jedi aphorisms. “Let’s find you those trinkets so you can get back to your other monks and talk about how Force-y they are while we take care of processing these guys,” he said, gesturing to the smugglers.

“Thank you, sergeant. The Order is grateful for your assistance,” Dayv replied.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, pulling out a pistol and aiming it at a prone smuggler’s skull. “You guys got any Jedi stuff around here? Fancy and probably shiny I’m guessing?” He interrogated.

“Mmmph…” the smuggler moaned in pain. “B-back room… stasis crate, labelled ‘sensitive material’... c-can’t miss it…” he answered. Wayve looked at Dayv as if to say ‘there you go’ as he holstered his pistol, and walked off to start helping his team collect the criminals for detainment, leaving Dayv to his own task.

Choosing not to bother the officers further, Dayv walked to the back room, and immediately saw the glowing blue stasis crate. It’d make sense for the artifacts to be in it - anything inside wouldn’t move and risk damage. He walked up to it, and pressed the deactivation switch for the crate. The blue glow disappeared, leaving a hollow cube containing three holocrons, a few saber crystals, and interestingly, an old-looking lightsaber. Taking the saber, he switched it on. Arctic blue - a rare color, not seen for a few hundred years. The archivists would be glad to see it returned to the Temple after however many years it’s been gone.

Switching the saber off, he placed the hilt on his belt, stashed the holocrons and crystals in his belt’s pockets, and walked through the backdoor back into the rainstorm. As he walked onto the street and saw the Jedi Temple in the distance, he realized he had no credits to request a taxi, and the nearest tram was half an hour away - with another hour’s walk to the Temple.

Starting the trek back, he began to quietly chide himself for dropping his robe in a dumpster and leaving himself without a hood. Thinking now, he realized that this had not been the cleanest or most well thought-out mission.

But at least he looked cool.

At least he got to be a real Jedi Knight for once.


	4. The Consular

_Inwards. Outwards. Just like Master taught. **  
**_

In the silence of the chamber she had been provided, Jedi Knight Roze La’londe meditated quietly, narrowing her consciousness down to nothing more than the sensation of air moving in and out of her body. It was a technique her master had taught her when she was a Padawan, to help her grow closer to the Living Force. As the air went in, so too did the energy it carried, which coursed through her veins, depositing the exhaust, which she released, which would be taken by other lifeforms to consume in the reverse process. Her breathing was not a singular event, but rather part of a continuous, unbroken cycle.

Just the same, as the Force flowed through her, it did not stop there - it was not a singular event of expense or absorption. Instead, it was a larger cycle - the Force would flow through her, then through the trillions of lifeforms around her, to the space beyond, coursing through the whole galaxy, connecting it all together. It pulled her, as it pulled everyone - but it was not a bully. It was a symbiote. As it pulls, it can be pulled in turn. Just as the Force can guide the galaxy, the galaxy, if it chose to, could guide the Force. She could pull and tug on the flow, and in a single humble act by a single person, she would affect the entire universe.

That was what her master taught her, anyway. She thought it was perhaps a bit too grandiose and, well… a rather Jedi way of looking at it. She believed in the importance of understanding the Force - else she would not become a Consular, a sect dedicated to such understanding - but she didn’t think it was something so mystic. Rather, she thought it was perhaps something a tad more down to earth. It was that worldiness that she felt set her apart from most of her Order - while they were busy trying to ‘yank’ and ‘tug’ at the all-surrounding flow of the Living Force to achieve the Jedi goals of peace and harmony, her only desire was to play a part in that flow, wherever it took her.

And today, it brought her to the Coruscant home of Representative Eridan Ampora, who desired her assistance in peacefully settling a dispute he was having with a Senator. Roze did not keep close track of politics, but she knew that the Alternian Resistance Nation’s representative had been dissatisfied with the Senate’s treatment of his people’s application to join the Republic. Her assumption was that the fiery Representative was tired of being counted among the non-voting members of the Republic’s governing body, and his latest outbursts were little more than power plays. Senators had benefits to their office - Representatives did not.

Still, it was not the Jedi way to turn one’s nose up to a request for mediation (or at least, not her Jedi way). And so she arrived at this household, a penthouse suite in one of the city’s upper levels (modest for a Senator, generous for a Representative), and was given a chamber to rest in for the hour before the Representative’s guest arrived. She contented herself to meditate and center herself, reaching out to the Force for guidance. She had been hoping it would answer, and -

_Wait… yes, here it is… the imagery of a mound of credits, laughing over it, as screams of frustration ring in the distance…_

Roze’s eyes opened. She smiled. Her gift was a curiosity in the Order, and she was wont to think that it was a result of her more modest approach to the Force. While most Jedi only receive visions from the Force in particularly special situations, she received them nearly once or twice a month. They were short and undescriptive, and she had to do a great deal of interpreting, but they were usually informative enough. She figured this particular one was meant to warn her that the Representative was focused on his own wealth, never mind the needs of others, screaming parsecs away. She smiled to herself, content to know more about the honorable Representative.

She sensed a presence approaching, and eyed the door in front of her. As it opened, Representative Ampora appeared before her, in his relatively humble attire (for a Representative), a golden band on his forehead with gleaming purple gems that matched his eyes and stuck out against his grey skin and a purple vest with black trim. He had a scar on his lips and a faint beard to match his spiky black hair, and had his hands behind his back in a very formal way. She rose to greet him, straightening out her robes as he addressed her.

“Master Jedi,” he started, his voice somewhat gravelly - probably from all the shouting in the Senate - “I can’t voice how thankful I am for your presence here and your assistance.”

“Of course, Representative,” Roze replied, “it’s my pleasure to help smooth over your issues. I assume the other party has arrived?”

“Not quite, but they are close. I wanted to speak with you privately first, if I may,” he requested. He spoke clearly and authoritatively, to the point where if he hadn’t added in the ‘if I may’ she would’ve considered the request rude and presumptuous. But since he had decided to be polite, she would play nice.

“As you wish, Representative,” Roze answered, walking out the door with the Representative, moving for the table they’d be speaking at.

“Are you well briefed on the situation?” Ampora asked, offering her a seat with a gesture, which she took. The penthouse was spacious and open, with servants standing ready to help and a view of the city. It had a brutally simple Alternian aesthetic, with every color of the rainbow brimming monotonic grays and blacks. She found it charming in its simplicity, and knew that the decor was probably rather expensive.

“I’m afraid not,” she answered. “Your page only requested my assistance, apparently having known me through my late master, who had assisted him and bragged of her Padawan at the time. He came to me, asked for my help in mediation, and I accepted,” she explained as he took a seat.

“You accepted to mediate a situation you knew nothing about?” He asked, somewhat confused. She merely shrugged.

“I am a Consular, sir. My service is through the resolution of conflict,” she stated.

“I see… well, currently, the Senate is voting in a majority against the progression of the ARN’s acceptance into the Republic,” Ampora stated. “It is early in the process, and while we have progressed past the first phase by establishing diplomatic connections with the Republic - ergo my office’s existence - we are stalling in the second phase,” the Representative explained.

“Which is?” Roze led on. She found herself bemused by the politician’s feigned sincerity, but maintained her face of genuine investment.

“Acceptance of sincere intent,” Ampora answered. “It’s to keep out nations who only plan to join the Republic for various benefits and skimp out on the responsibilities, such as providing a portion of their military and revenue,” he explained. “The Resistance Nation has already transferred some of our own people to Republic supervision as a show of good faith, but there is still a large element in the Senate who feel our efforts are just an attempt to infiltrate the Republic for the Empire.”

“Which is, of course, ludicrous,” Roze reacted, appearing sincere but saying it only ironically. She knew he’d wave away assertions that kept him from power.

“Yes, exactly!” He responded passionately. “We’re fighting a bloody civil war because we hate the Empire! Why on Her Majesty’s honor would we -” he cut himself off, collecting himself with a sigh. “My apologies. I should try to maintain my composure better. My sovereign already complains of my outbursts in the Senate,” he mentioned. Roze, admittedly, was surprised. She expected denial, but nothing so passionate as an outburst like that.

“It’s understandable,” was all she said in response. “And what are we doing today, then?”

“We are meeting with Senator Lo’bor, who possesses clout over the more moderate aspects of the majority against the motion to accept the ARN’s sincere intent,” he explained, trying to speak more evenly. “He is cautious about Alternian motives, but is willing to listen to me, provided I had a Jedi mediate between us, for fairness’ sake,” he explained. “I hope that with your support, we can show him of the Resistance Nation’s dedication to the Republic.”

Roze nodded. Something seemed… off. She sensed something was wrong but could not tell what. She reached out with the Force, and searched his feelings for deceit and selfishness. Yet she found… nothing. Fires and passions, yes, but for his people. Was he trained to trick even a Jedi’s senses?

Before she could consider further, the door to the penthouse dinged, requesting entry.  Eridan gestured to one of his aides to open the door and bring the guests in before turning back to Roze.

“They’ve arrived. Can I count on you to see justice done for my people?” He asked. She regarded him with a plain face.

“You can count on me to be fair, Representative. That is all I can promise while remaining true to the spirit of the Jedi Consular,” Roze answered. He sighed, but nodded in concession as the doors opened and he turned his attention to his guests. There were two of them, one clad in the fine regalia of the Senate, the other in full body armor - a bodyguard.

“Senator Lo’bor, welcome. Please, have a seat,” Ampora offered, gesturing to the seat across from him. “This is Jedi Consular Roze La’londe, she will be our mediator for this meeting, as you requested.”

“A pleasure,” Lo’bor said, with a nod. He was portly and aged and carried a slight stench which was not pleasant at all. He seated himself while his bodyguard stood, a compact blaster rifle at his hip.

“I understand you and your associates in the Senate still have reservations about the Resistance Nation’s sincere intent as per the Induction Protocol of the Galactic Code,” Ampora opened, his servants bringing drinks of water and refreshments to match. “I was hoping we could smooth those reservations over concisely, so as not to waste either of our precious time.”

“Of course, Ampora,” Lo’bor responded, “I am not as stubborn and hesitant as my fellow members of the opposition. My concerns are brief but worthy of pause nonetheless.”

“Then,” Roze offered, “let us hear them in full, so as to address them in full.”

“As you wish, Master Jedi,” Lo’bor said, giving Roze a polite nod. She searched him as well - he was not passionate or devoted to anything, and she sensed that he had plenty of questionable ethics, but did not sense such corruption surfacing in him now. But then what was her vision? Surely the Representative had some kind of trick up his sleeve - it was him she had to be concerned about.

“First,” Lo’bor went on, “I worry about the state of your civil war. If your rebel nation enters the Republic, it could cause an escalation of the conflict between us and the Empire - as you know-” Lo’bor started, but he was shortly interrupted by Ampora.

“Respectfully Senator, that is not a consideration at this stage. We are talking about the Resistance Nation’s intentions behind joining the Republic. We’ve already shown that we do not intend to freeload,” Ampora rushed, “and your concerns of war are valid, of course, but for a later time and another discussion.”

“Representative Ampora,” Lo’bor warned cautiously, obviously displeased by the rude interruption. “You must understand that the closer your nation comes to entering the Republic, the more suspect the Republic looks in the eyes of the Empire.”

“I must agree with the Representative,” Roze decided to declare in an instant. She did not feel like it was entirely her own will, but her instinct told her to do so. “If the current situation calls only for an analysis of the Resistance’s sincerity, then concerns of appearances do not matter. In fact, I’d say they’re irrelevant - the Empire already knows of the Resistance’s attempts to join the Republic. They know they are sincere - why doesn’t the Senate?” She argued. Lo’bor paused for a moment.

“Fair enough, I suppose…” he conceded. She didn’t know why she supported the Representative if he was the one the Force warned her about. But it felt like there was more going on here that she didn’t know about yet.

“If we want to narrow ourselves down to only… this particular focus, of intent, then there is one more concern…” Lo’bor almost mumbled. Roze could tell he had expected her to be more neutral, but wasn’t willing to contradict or argue with a Jedi. Fine by her.

“Which is?” Roze pressed. She sensed something was wrong and yet still could not place her finger on it.

“Intent is good and all, but the capacity to follow through is something else,” he began. “The Resistance may be intent on joining the Republic, paying its taxes and offering its military and all, but can it follow through?”

“Absolutely.” Ampora answered without hesitation. Roze glanced at him - the faith he had in his country, which was just founded by political renegades and didn’t even have a full governing body yet, was… significant - she could feel his conviction emanating off of him through the Force. Republic duties were not overbearing, but also perhaps more than the Resistance could afford to commit to. And yet here he was, committing to it on behalf of billions. Lo’bor looked to Roze.

“What do you think, Master Jedi? Can the Resistance ‘absolutely’ follow through on their duties as a member of the Republic, even though they don’t seem to able to spare much of anything?” He asked her. She thought for a moment. The Force was pulling her to say something she didn’t want to say, and she resisted. But then she remembered her master’s teachings - and her own beliefs on following the will of the Living Force when it made itself known.

“I believe that the Representative - and thus, we must assume, the people he represents - believes so. And that is enough, I believe, for now,” she finally decided. The Force was guiding her, and she placed her faith in it.

Lo’bor paused for a few seconds before sighing. “I suppose I will place my trust in the wisdom of the Jedi,” he said. She could tell he was offering false deference - it was fear that motivated him, not respect. He knew better than to disrespect a Jedi, especially when he himself had asked for her advice. It would be - in his mind, at least - a grievous mistake to ignore it now. With an instant more of prodding, she could also sense regret for asking for a Jedi mediator. He didn’t want to do this, but couldn’t back out at this point.

It was in that instant Roze realized what the Force was warning her about.

It wasn’t the politicians.

It was the one with the gun.

The gun, she sensed, that would be pointed at Lo’bor’s head in a second.

Just as the rifle pressed itself against his skull, Roze took in a breath.

“Not the way you should’ve gone, Senator,” the bodyguard/assassin remarked.

Roze breathed out, and released the power of the Living Force with it, shoving her hand out as she released a shockwave of Force power, shoving the assassin backwards and away from the Senator, smashing the armored form against the black wall of the penthouse. Lo’bor and Ampora both stood, watching in awe as Roze held the killer against the wall with her will and the power of the Force, walking up to him.

“Senator Lo’bor, Representative Ampora, I apologize. I had sensed that a corrupt force was among us, and I had foolishly allowed myself to be lulled away from seeing that force with my own eyes,” she remarked, keeping her eyes on the pinned assailant.

“Jek! How could you? You’ve served me for years, we - we were friends!” Lo’bor stuttered, incredulous at how close he had been to dying.

“I sense no friendship in him, Senator,” Roze remarked, close enough to touch the man now. She gripped his helmet, and tore it away, revealing a bald, scarred, but youthful head. She could tell by the Senator’s gasp of shock - and the thud of his fainting - that this was not Jek.

“You did it for the money,” Roze stated simply. She could sense the thoughts in his brain - he was clever, but not very strong minded. “It was easy money, too. Make sure he swung the right way in the end, and if he didn’t, blow his brains out and make it look like it was the Alternian’s fault,” she went on, reading the thoughts right out of his skull. He panicked, surfacing more thoughts out of reflex for her to pour over, but before she could read them, she felt them begin to be replaced with terror and fear - and start fading.

He foamed at the mouth. His thoughts were a frenzy. And then, slowly, they fell silent.

She dropped his body and examined it.

“Dead. He was poisoned somehow. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell,” Roze told Ampora, turning to him.

“How did this happen? Why? Who would arrange for this?” The Representative asked.

“I don’t know, Representative, and this is beyond my field. I will speak with my fellow Jedi, those who are more well trained to seek out the hidden secrets of the dark side. I will find someone to assist in the investigation,” she promised. “For right now, you should contact Coruscant Security. I do not sense further danger, but you should be safe now,” she suggested. Ampora nodded, gesturing to a startled aide to do as she asked. He looked back to her.

“Thank you, Master Jedi. You’ve done more than I could’ve asked for - you saved my life.”

“I also secured your political deal,” she remarked more light-heartedly, gesturing to the recovering Lo’bor. “Hopefully his cooperation will help you in the Senate.” He nodded.

“I’m sure it will. The people of the Resistance Nation owe you a debt of gratitude, Consular Roze - and I owe you, as well,” he thanked, bowing his head.

“It is the Jedi way,” she simply responded. “I must return to the Temple and report what has happened. Send for me if you need my help again, Representative,” she offered. He nodded once more and bade her farewell. The door opened as the Security Force began pouring in, and she slipped through the crowd of officers and headed towards the elevator.

As she descended back to the nearest ground level, she looked out at the city, and thought about what had happened. Her own arrogance had caused her to presume that everybody but the threat, was a threat. And because of that, somebody had almost died. She quietly chastised herself - she prided herself so much on her worldliness, and yet out in the world she was so caught up in her own ego that she had nearly failed in one of the basic functions of a Jedi.

She sighed, and thought of Master Evalyn.

And then she took a deep breath in to follow the sigh.

And back out again.

Inwards, outwards, just like her master had taught her.

_“I still have much to learn, don’t I, Master…”_  she thought to herself as she closed her eyes for the duration of the elevator ride.


	5. The Pilot

“This is Atom Leader to Atom 1 though 3, form up on me, attack formation, Atom 4 through 7, screen us, wide formation, Atom 8 through 11, cover our rear flanks, over” she ordered.

“Roger that,” her squadron affirmed.

Streaking through the red Zedzerian sky in advanced ARC-181 fighters (a whole generation and build above the standard ARC-170s), Atom Squadron, one of the most decorated units in the Republic Navy, formed up according to the orders of their leader. Atoms 4, 5, 6, and 7 all took the frontal position in a square pattern, keeping an eye out for hostiles approaching the squadron and prepared to neutralize them to protect the rest of the squadron. Atoms 8 through 11 took the rear position, weaving around and shifting place to allow each pilot to get a good view around them while their gunners eyed their backs.

Atom Leader and her wingmen were in the middle, and priming torpedoes for their attack run.

Officially, the Republic and Empire were at peace, with a handful of international treaties between them outlining the nature of their relationship and what was and was not acceptable for either side. The Empire, for example, could not expand any closer to Republic space beyond the Core Line, but the Republic couldn’t establish a permanent presence between the Core Line and the Mid Rim, either, making it an effective De-Militarized Zone. This kept a buffer zone between both galactic powers so that neither side could launch an immediate invasion on the other - it’d take hours to cross the DMZ, time for one side to detect any such invasion and prepare to defend.

Of course, despite these treaties and precautions, there were still regions of instability and tension that sparked into isolated conflict. The Alternian Civil War was a prime example - Alternia was one of the only regions where Imperial and Republic borders actually touched, and when the Civil War started, the Resistance Nation was allowed to take up officially Republic space. Now, neither the Empire nor the Republic were officially involved in the Civil War, but both sides sent aid and military support to their vassals as a show of “distant support”. For the most part, there wasn’t actual military engagement, aside from extreme situations.

Situations like Zedzeria.

It was a frontline desert world that was engulfed in conflict. While the Civil War was everywhere in the Alternian Empire, with pockets of resistance on every world, Zedzeria was the one of the only planets where it manifested itself in actual planet-wide warfare. It was between the space controlled firmly by the Alternian Empire and Alternian Resistance (still distant from the official capital of the ARN in Republic space), and both sides sent great resources to sway the battle in their favor. Unfortunately, because the Civil War was so brutal, that amounted to a standstill.

A standstill that Atom Squadron was going to break a little bit.

Officially, they were a military unit on loan to the Alternian Resistance Nation, which in turn sent them to assist the Alternian Resistance (one was a political power, the other was a rebel faction within the Alternian Empire itself - the Civil War and creation of the ARN made things rather complicated when it came to delineating what was what and who was where). The Alternian Resistance, namely, needed assistance on Zedzeria, and Atom Squadron was going to destroy the largest Imperial presence on the planet for them before returning to the ARN and being recalled by the Republic. See? Completely legal and not breaking any treaties whatsoever.

Commander Jade Har-bert was always impressed by the political backflips of the Senate and Republic High Command. Mostly because they always created new ways for her to spit at the Empire without starting a war.

“Atom Leader, we’ve got bogies in bound, five of them, squadron two o’clock, over” Atom 4 reported.

“Copy that, Atom 4, I think I see them,” Jade answered. “Atom 4 and 5, you are free to engage, Atom 6 and 7, hold formation, over,” she ordered.

“Copy that, engaging,” she heard chattered back as Atom 4 and 5 broke formation to engage the hostile fighters. She felt like something was off. She double-checked her topographical read-out, which confirmed that they were within 100 kilometers of the target, they’d be there in minutes. This was a major hostile stronghold on the planet, they should have detected them by now and sent a lot more than just five fighters. She knew that the Resistance had mounted a major offensive nearby to draw away some of their air presence, but they had to have more on reserve than just five little fighters.

Within a minute, the dogfighting was already over. Atom 4 and 5 weaved and rolled around and blasted the fighters to ashes like it was nothing before returning to formation. These were the best pilots in the Navy - Commander Har-bert only accepted the best for Atom Squadron, and only the best had a chance against them without enough numbers.

Even if the enemy had numbers, all they’d have was just a chance.

But Jade knew the enemy should have numbers, and numbers galore. She switched her comm frequency to the Resistance leadership’s to speak with them.

“This is Atom Leader to Resistance command, do you copy, over?” She called out.

“Resistance Command to Atom Leader, this is General Onshma, we copy, over,” she heard back. “General” Onshma didn’t have a legitimate commission from a formal authority, but he was the strategic and tactical mastermind behind the Zedzerian chapter of the Resistance, so he took the title for his own. Having seen his work, Jade didn’t think it was unfair of him.

“We’re approaching the target,” she explained, “but we’re experiencing next to no resistance. What is your status, over?”

“Experiencing heavy push back, but sustaining,” Onshma answered, “enemy air support is thick but within expected numbers, over.”

“Well then where the hell -” Jade started, before her radar began going crazy. “Nevermind. We’ve found the rest of their air force. Over and out, General,” she concluded before switching back to Atom Squad comms.

“Atom Leader, we’ve got one galactic standard fuckton of fighters headed our way,” Atom 5 reported.

“Yep, I noticed, Atom 5. Squad, form up on me, offensive formation. We’re gonna punch a hole right through them,” she commanded. Offensive formation in this situation was a massive gamble - it held them together close, which was great for attacking groups of enemies because it concentrated their fire power, but also gave them little room to maneuver defensively. Despite this, the squadron reformed itself in a somewhat close grouping with Commander Har-bert in the center without a question. They trusted her leadership. And she trusted their skill in a fighter - also without question.

And there they were - a whole flight of them. Thirty or so Alternian fighters. Half again as many as Atom Squadron.

And here she thought they’d bring enough to have a chance.

“Atom Leader to Atom Squadron, maintain formation, engage hostiles,” she ordered.

And the sky filled up with fire.

Atom’s opening hail shot down a handful, maybe four fighters, thanks to the ARC-181’s advanced targeting systems and their own skillful hand at keeping their blaster cannons steady. The hostiles opened fire, and nearly scored a few hits, but their deflector shields kept them safe enough for the first few seconds. After that, they were vulnerable, but they only needed those few seconds to give them the edge. As they approached to close range, another six fighters went down as the formation shook a bit, pilots edging around to get their shots in and keep themselves out of the line of fire. By the time Atom Squadron shot through the hostile formation, they had suffered a few burns and scratches, compared to the enemy’s two-thirds strength.

“Atom Leader to Atom Squad, resume prior formation, full speed ahead - rear guard, keep them off of us, screeners, prep torpedoes, I want as much damage done in one run as possible,” she ordered. This was going to be tight - if that target wasn’t at least half-way ashed in their first run, they’d have a lot more than these twenty fights on them, and they wouldn’t be just behind them, they’d be everywhere. And then the enemy would have a chance - a chance Jade did not intend to give them.

“Atom 6 to Atom Leader,” she heard call back, “We have a visual on the target, recommend evasive maneuvers to avoid anti-air flak.”

“Copy that Atom 6, engage evasive maneuvers, but keep your eye on the prize,” she ordered. She switched comms to speak to her technician.

“B-3C, think you can get those deflector shields back up?” She asked her droid. She and B-3C were inseparable, and had flown on countless missions together. She wouldn’t trade that droid for the world. He was a good droid, and one of her best friends. She heard his screeching static-esque response, and understood that he was doing his best to bring them up, but still thought evasive maneuvers was smart. She disagreed - her torpedoes were going for the reactor building, and if she missed then they’d never cause enough damage. Evasive maneuvers weren’t permissible here.

And then there was the flak. Like fireworks, except with a lot more fragmentation meant to tear their fighters to shreds. Atom Squadron weaved around, moving themselves at several times the speed of sound to keep away from that anti-aircraft ordinance, while Jade kept herself as steady as possible. Checking her rear camera, she saw that their rear flank was holding itself as well as possible, but despite their retaliatory fire the enemies behind them were still untouched. They weren’t gaining thanks to the 181’s superior speed, but once they slowed for the attack run, they’d be right on top of them.

“Atom Leader to Atom Squadron, check torpedoes primed, prepare for attack run,” she commanded. She received positive affirmations from everyone not in the rear flank. They were 10 seconds away from attack run distance.

And that was when she was hit.

It wasn’t enough to shatter her. It wasn’t enough to send her spinning out of control until exploding. It wasn’t enough to send her into a nosedive. But it took out the last few feet of her right wing, and the blaster cannon with it. Her fighter shook and started to swerve, and if it weren’t for her quick reflexes she would’ve come a lot closer to crashing into one of her own wingmen. Fortunately, she managed to stabilize herself and get herself going straight again, but she felt her ship quivering and shaking and pulling left.

“B-3C, when we start our run, transfer all spare power to the shields,” she ordered, a small scratch of static giving his affirmative.

“Atom 3 to Atom Leader, are you OK?” The wingman she nearly crashed into asked.

“I’m fine, I took a hit, it’s just a scratch,” she answered.

“Negative Atom Leader, you’re missing part of your right wing,” Atom 2 chimed in.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Hold formation! Commence attack run!” She ordered, almost too late to begin the run properly. 

The squadron slowed down and dove ground-wards, each fighter fanning out to get their assigned targets in their crosshairs. The stronghold was big, and ray-shielding protected the walls from blasters, but proton-torpedoes would shred that shielding and blow it sky-high. Their targets were the most important buildings - armories, command centers, communications arrays, storage warehouses, hangars. With as many torpedoes going at as it was (each ARC-181 could launch 4 in a single run, with 12 torpedoes loaded into each), they’d neutralize almost all of their primary targets if they hit. It’d be nice to wipe the base off the map, but they’d be swarmed with fighters and flak if they stayed much longer.

Jade veered for the reactor building, in the middle of the complex, where it was the best protected. She kept herself straight as possible, counting on B-3C to keep her shields up. She felt her ship shaking as the shields took hit after hit, but refused to move. Finally, she released her load, and watched four proton torpedoes launch out before finally taking evasive actions, just as B-3C and the display warned her of shield failure.

“B-3C, can you confirm hits?” She asked anxiously. She had to know if the reactor was destroyed - she didn’t have a gunner to see behind her (thanks to his recent honorable discharge due to injury). She listened to the screeching fluctuations of static and sighed to herself.

Three out of four hits. She flinched and started evading too early, and the reactor was not destroyed. Severely damaged, but repairable.

But she didn’t have time to berate herself right now. Their attack run was complete, and in a few minutes they’d be swarmed. She could already see the radar pings starting. She looked down at her torpedo count. Eight left. She listened to her comm channel as confirmed target destroyed’s filled in. Her brow furrowed, and she grit her teeth as she accepted what she was about to do.

“That’s the best we can do,” she almost grumbled into the comm. “Atom Squadron, return to base, full speed.”

With that, they rocketed off for their homebase behind friendly lines a few hundred kilos away. Jade spent the hour-long trip struggling to keep her ship steady with its damages, quietly seething in her own disappointment. What would her grandfather say? He never missed. And yet she couldn’t keep herself steady for one more second. That reactor would be back online in weeks, instead of the months it’d take to build a new one. And it was all because she flinched.

When they made it back to base, she disembarked her fighter, and B-3C joined her as she walked to meet with the squadron, all dressed in their pitch black flight suits with white flight vests. They were chatting excitedly about the mission, counting up kills and determining how much closer they were to their next Ribbon of Flight Combat Excellence for acing again. When they saw their commander, pulling her helmet off, her hair spilling out of it like oil, they all fell quiet and saluted her at attention. She put them at ease.

“Nice work out there, guys. Almost all primary targets destroyed,” she remarked. Internally, her voice of self-criticism echoed that ‘almost’. “The Alternian’s didn’t know what hit them, and they’re going to be wondering for weeks while the Resistance enjoys shooting at loyalists without guns and ships,” she predicted. Her squadron chuckled at that.

“I’m sure my boys will enjoy the hell out of it,” a voice called out. Jade and her squad turned to see, as General Onshma approached. He was a tall Alternian with dark blue eyes, a sign of nobility in the Alternian Empire, where blood-casting was still systematic and ingrained in policy. His black hair was trimmed extremely short, and he wore a practical outfit with the only indication of ‘rank’ being the officer’s cap he wore. He approached Jade and rose an eyebrow with a smile.

“Is that hair regulation length, Commander?” He asked jokingly. He couldn’t care less, she could tell, so she smiled back.

“When you’re the commander of the Republic’s best, you get to pull the PR card every so often,” she joked. Her hair actually wasn’t regulation length, but it fit in her helmet and officer’s cap just fine, so nobody really knew except the enlisted and her squad, neither of which cared.

“I must say, it’s been an honor to have you fighting with us - all of you,” Onshma remarked, gesturing to all of Atom Squadron, “and I would love it if you’d stick around and helped us scorch some more Imperialist bastards, if you wouldn’t mind extending your stay with us,” the General requested. He framed it in a casual way, but Jade knew officers, and she knew when one of them was desperate. He really wanted them to stay. And she’d like to help more, but she knew where she was needed - and with their mission complete, it wasn’t here anymore.

“Sorry, General, but I don’t call those shots,” she apologized. He made a conceding gesture, before reaching into his pocket and offering her a data chip.

“Fair is fair. This here is a coded transmission from the Republic for you,” he explained as Jade took the chip. “We got it during the battle, which went fairly well once they realized their home base was on fire. I figured it’d be rude to open your mail for you so it’s untouched. I hope I get to see Atom Squadron again sometime soon - especially if it’s atomizing Her Imperious Condescension’s stooges. My guys will make repairs to your ships and get you ready to move out. Commander,” he saluted, before turning to the rest of the squad to do the same. With that, he turned and walked away.

Jade took a look at the chip, then turned to B-3C to plug it in for him to decode. A few seconds later, he was buzzing out his static and translating the transmission for her. When it was done she took out the chip, dropped it on the ground, and blasted it - as per procedure for sensitive information that was no longer needed. She stood back up and turned to her men as she holstered her sidearm.

“We’ve been formally recalled early. We’re leaving as soon as we’ve got fuel, I’ll brief you once we’re spacebound,” she explained quickly, before turning and leaving her boys to make their preparations. She knew they’d be ready before the day was out.

They knew how important it was when she didn’t tell them right away.


	6. The Senator

“You are sure of this, my lady?” The droid asked in his synthesized voice.

“It’s the only way, SEB,” the finely-dressed Senator responded, her light blue eyes glancing over to her droid companion, seeing even with his unmoving metal face the concern he had for her.

Senator Jayn Crok’r, one of the Senate’s newest and yet most outspoken members, carried a very good deal of clout within the chambers of power of the Republic for one of such a short career, and for that reason, had many eyes on her. Some, like SEB-45TN’s, were the eyes of allies and friends seeking to protect and help her. Others, like the glares she saw sent her way as she walked through the halls of the Senate building, were the eyes of enemies who sought her downfall, or at least her disgrace.

Most of them, however, were the eyes of the press. Like the eyes filming her and commenting on her “exquisite gown and jacket combination” which displayed “such mastery of decorum and fashion” according to the reporter on the other side of the corridor near an exit. She thought she heard him make some remark on her weight and size, and had to take a deep breath to maintain her composure. She was a Senator, and had to act like one. Even if this place was riddled with corruption and tabloids that were quicker to speculate on her diet then her politics.

She had promised to make these halls a place of honor and democracy a long time ago. And she’d be damned if she let it get to her while she tackled this bloated beast.

Recently, she had been conducting a private investigation to help her in that very mission. Among other hot topics in the Senate, such as the Alternian Resistance Nation’s petition to join the Republic and the proper place of Jedi in the greater scheme of the Republic in these dark times - both of which she felt were worthy of discussion, neither of which she felt were worthy of top priority in comparison to other items on (and off) the official docket - there had been some debates on the logistics of the Grand Army of the Republic.

The First Sergeant of the Army, as well as the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, both reported, in accordance with their office as chief liaisons between the enlisted ranks and high command, that while most aspects of logistical accounting were at least ranked ‘satisfactory’ in recent surveys of the troops, the rations were consistently ranked as extremely disappointing. While many Senators felt this wasn’t worth their attention, just enough (including Senator Crok’r) voted to have it placed on the docket for further discussion. It had been discussed once already, with one faction arguing that something must be done to better nourish and support the military. The more dominant faction, however, argued that the military’s purpose was to defend the Republic and its interests and endure the hardships that come with that service - including the food.

Jayn, however, didn’t subscribe to that way of thinking. As far as she was concerned, there were men and women out there dying for the Republic, or at least had made the choice to take that risk. For her, it wasn’t about just the food - it was the _principal_ of it. The least they could do was make sure that their soldiers were being taken care of while they were out their sticking their necks on the line. She hated that they even needed to expand the military as much as they have, but the Empire’s proximity made a compelling argument to maintain a strong defense force. Arguing just well enough last week, she managed to secure a second debate on the topic for another time - today.

During that week, she spent her time out of the Senate Hall looking into reports and files on the food rations in the GAR. Survey numbers, selected comments on the food (most of which could not be repeated before the Senate due to decent language rules), budget statistics - anything that could help her understand what the problem was. She discovered that, according to one of the military’s scientists who decided to spend some down time messing with it, the food wasn’t only distasteful, it was of questionable nutritional value. She had examined the budget for military rations, and then researched the food products listed. In turn, she found out that they all happened to be made from extremely cheap products - products used to make generic pet food. They were being made from pet food ingredients, sold at ten times a sane value per unit for the nutritional value, and fed to soldiers across the Republic.

And they were all produced by the same corporation.

Which happened to have several Senators - many of whom spoke against even discussing the topic - as shareholders and recipients of generous contributions.

She had stayed up all night last night preparing a presentation and accompanying speech to deliver during the Senate session today the moment Supreme Chancellor Calliope gave her the floor. Every Senator in the hall would receive all of her facts, statistics, and sources, flashed right before their eyes over the course of a few minutes. The corruption scandal - and charges - would encompass a few dozen Senators, and nobody knew a thing about what was coming because she hadn’t left so much as a shred of a paper trail.

Food for soldiers and justice for sleezebuckets - she’d call it a good day.

Of course, SEB-45TN was concerned about the kind of attention it would place on Jayn. He had been given to her as a gift by a Jedi Knight gifted with robotics who had been sent as an escort to bring her Coruscant after her contested election to the Senate. He saved her life after radicals from the Skaian Federation tried to assassinate her, and decided to build a modified commando droid to be her head of security. Naturally, he was programmed to prioritize her safety. As an organic, however, she didn’t care so much for her own safety, and so he was often voicing his concerns to her in response to her (sometimes reckless) pursuits.

“I understand the drive to expose this corruption ring, my lady,” he continued in his diplomatic-sounding voice (he doubled as a protocol droid for her convenience). “But I urge you to consider the political repercussions.You risk making powerful enemies with this ploy, Senator.”

“Most of whom will be removed from office or resign in response to the scandal. Supreme Chancellor Calliope may be cold, but she’s firm and just to the bone. If she sees this proof of corruption, she’ll charge the conspirators personally,” Jayn countered.

“Be that as it may, Senator -”

“SEB, I know you’re worried about me, but even though this place is a mess, Calliope knows that too. She’ll clear the Senate of anybody I point out as needing clearing and there won’t be anybody left to be angry at me,” Jayn countered. SEB obviously wanted to argue further, but kept it to himself, knowing she had a point about the Chancellor.

Calliope had been elected to the Chancellery decades ago, and maintained her place through sheer respect. Supreme Chancellors served for life or until a vote of no confidence succeeded with a 65% majority, and most before her had been evicted from office when it was felt they no longer had the interests of the people and Senate at heart. But Calliope was the fairest, justest, and most cold-heartedly rational Chancellor to take the podium - the people loved her and her little sister, Cal’i, who served as her aide and public face. It’d take a severe shift in the political landscape to remove her from office, and it’d take only sufficient evidence against you to invoke her wrath.

Of course, her only interest was in law and order, so everybody was vulnerable to that wrath if they stepped out of line. But today, Jayn was on the right side of things, and she was the one coming out on top.

Finally, Jayn and SEB arrived at the entrance to the Senate Chamber itself, and entered, moving for the Skaian Federation’s platform. SEB glanced around, scanning for security threats. His pointed, double-triangular visor shimmered in the light of the Chamber, large and cavernous and lined with Senator’s platforms, the members of the Republic’s governing body filling in for the day’s session. Jayn walked with her bodyguard past the crowds, nodding politely to her colleagues and associates.

Just as she walked onto her platform, she saw the Chancellor’s podium rising up from its resting position beneath the floor, where the Chancellor’s office was. On it was Supreme Chancellor Calliope herself, her grim green skull-like visage with eyes sunken in giving the illusion of empty sockets staring firmly outwards. She was in her usual official attire - a dark grey flowing robe with the hood down, her boney green arms exposed from the elbow out. At her sides was her second in command - Vice Chair Cal’i, her sister and public face of the Chancellery. Her own eyes were not so sunken, making her look more lively, and she wore a bright green robe. While Calliope refrained from public appearances, Cal’i loved representing the executive branch of the Republic in any affair. The people loved her, and her own kindness and warmth more than made up for the Supreme Chancellor’s chilled demeanor. Jayn admired the both of them, and stood at her own podium as the Vice Chair spoke up.

“Order, order,” Cal’i called out to draw the attention of the Senate and quiet the idle chatter. Her voice was strong, but gentle - she commanded with politeness and made her demands through mutual respect. “This session of the Galactic Senate has been called to order and commenced,” she declared. Jayn placed her hand immediately over her console, hovering a centimeter above the ‘call’ button that would allow her to request the floor. The moment Cal’i opened the floor she’d press it and start the day off by setting fire to a giant greaseball of corruption.

“The official docket of items of old business, as carried over from previous sessions, due to be revisited today, are as follows, with no order of priority or otherwise: The debate on the Act to Regulate Distribution of Exceedingly Small Amounts of Offworld Organic Material; the debate of the Act to Delineate and Define Exotic Fabrics in the Production of Clothing Articles; the discussion of the Call for Early Census…” she went on, down and down the list of pointless articles of business that were constantly delayed.

It was an old tactic in the Senate, used for years by Senators who wanted to keep heat off of them. They’d introduce pointless business and have it delayed, or delay actually significant business that might hurt them or their benefactors. Then, the list of old business would be a mile long, and need reciting every session, taking up so much time. Then they’d let discussion go on about the old business, then docket it again with no progress made. They when they introduce new business after getting the floor, the old business never gets really worked on, and any business they don’t want to talk about gets delayed by necessity. But Jayn wouldn’t let them steal the floor this time. She’d bust them if it killed her. And if you asked SEB, it just might, once she was done.

Jayn tensed up as the list of old business reached it’s end. She needed the floor first. If she didn’t get it first she might not get it before the end of the day’s session - she only had so many hours and her opponents would try to sap them from her if they got the floor even once. They didn’t even realize how much trouble many of them were in - since the ration debate was old business, she could bring it up immediately. If she could get the floor just _once_ today…

“...and, finally, the discussion on the Call to Commission a Committee to Oversee the Commissioned Committee to Oversee Senatorial Oversight Committee Commissioning. The floor is open to address old business,” Cal’i concluded. Jayn slammed down on her call button. Cal’i looked at her own console, and then towards the Senator who had requested the floor first.

It wasn’t Jayn.

“The chair recognizes Representative Eridan Ampora of the Alternian Resistance Nation - Representative Ampora, you have the floor,” Cal’i declared as the Alternian ambassador’s platform hovered forward to indicate that he had the floor. Jayn sighed quietly. She had nothing against Ampora, and supported his motions for the ARN, but this could _not_ be worse timing.

“I thank the chair. I rise to address old business, specifically the Motion to Accept Sincere Intent of the Alternian Resistance Nation’s Petition to Join the Galactic Republic,” the Representative declared. Jayn saw whispers go around and some Senators typing into their consoles to communicate with their blocs and parties and factions. She heard that Ampora had help from a Jedi to persuade a few fencers to sway his way - maybe he felt confident this time that the motion would go through. She’d vote in favor, as she did before.

“What does the Representative have to say on the motion?” Cal’i asked. The Chancellor, as usual, mostly just watched the affairs of the Senate - she was, technically, the executive, and had no right, in her mind, to intervene in the affairs of the legislative. Cal’i was also a part of the executive branch, but her position as Vice Chair made her President of the Senate, and thus the Chancellor let her do her work.

“I have nothing further to say on the motion other than to call to put it to vote,” the Representative explained.

“The Representative calls to vote,” Cal’i asked.

“I second,” Jayn declared.

“The call is seconded, the motion will be put to vote,” Cal’i declared. Ampora looked over to Jayn, his face thankful for her support. The two of them were only professional in their relationship, but were fighting on the same team - they respected each other. She thought he was much too hot headed and was disgusted at times with his brash disrespect for others, but felt that he was ultimately a good person trying to do the right thing.

Senators rushed to finalize their votes, figuring out what line to toe and which way to swing from their party whips and bloc captains. Whenever an issue was put to vote, the Senators had five minutes to deliberate and confer and make final decisions. Jayn immediately voted in favor of the motion, of course, and then prepared to try to take the floor again.

Finally, the five minutes passed, and the results of the vote were presented to the Senators on their consoles. Cal’i recited the results for non-Senator attendants.

“The vote is concluded - by a count of 50.52% to 50.98%, the motion fails,” she announced. Jayn could tell she was disappointed, even as she hid her personal emotions. Ampora was visibly devastated. Cal’i began going over what would happen to the motion now - it would remain docketed until the next session when it could be brought up for further discussion or another vote. But because this was the Senate, she’d have to spend five minutes going over the minutia. While she did so, Jayn thought over what just happened. Most of the Senators who were against the motion weren’t exactly people of honor. They used ignorant rhetoric against the Alternians, claiming they were just trying to sap the Republic’s strength. She wouldn’t be surprised if…

Wait… she _wouldn’t_ be surprised… slowly, she turned to SEB.

“SEB… I need you to run a cross-reference really quickly,” she said. SEB nodded his head.

“Of course, ma’am. What am I crossing?”

“The list of names my investigation turned up with the names of Senators who voted against the motion,” she explained.

“One moment, processing… 96% of Senators incriminated by your research appear on the list of ‘nay’ votes. What are you thinking, ma’am?”

“Re-calculate the vote, this time assuming the Senators on both lists abstain rather than vote,” she ordered. She had a feeling…

“Calculating… the vote would shift slightly less than 0.5%, ma’am.”

“It would pass, then?”

“...under those circumstances, yes, ma’am… what are you…”

Jayn immediately turned. Cal’i was finishing her elaboration.

“...the floor is officially open for old business-”

Jayn slammed her call button. Cal’i turned her way.

“The chair recognizes Senator Jayn Crok’r of the Skaian Federation. Senator Crok’r, you have the floor,” Cal’i announced.

“I thank the chair,” Jayn responded, “and rise to address old business. Two items at once, if the chair will permit,” she requested. She immediately berated herself for politeness and propriety - you can’t be told ‘no’ if you don’t ask.

Cal’i turned to her sister, who nodded her assent - apparently the Galactic Constitution (which the Chancellor, allegedly, had memorized) permitted Jayn’s request.

“The chair permits,” Cal’i answered. Some cries of protest opened, but Cal’i merely reiterated that it was Senator Crok’r who had the floor.

“I would like to redress the most recent motion,” Jayn declared, to voices of protest, “as well as the old business of the discussion on the Call to Improve Nutritional Rations for the Grand Army of the Republic,” she went on. There was obvious confusion in the hall about her intentions with such wildly different matters.

“I… see… what does the Senator have to say about these items?” Cal’i asked. Jayn inserted the data chip with her findings on it into her console and uploaded it to the Senate Hall’s network, sending it to every console in there. SEB saw her do it, and she swore she heard him vocalize a sigh.

“The Senate will find presented on their screens a collection of statistics and findings pertaining to the issue of the Grand Army’s food rations. As you will all see, with immaculate sourcing, the nutritional value of the rations currently provided is abysmal,” Jayn explained. “Not only abysmal, but arguably _illegal_ , as, once more as presented, the materials used to produce these rations are not used for the consumption of most sentient races, but rather most _domesticated_ races. _Pets_ , in other words. According to all economic statistics, the rations should cost a _tenth_ of their price as sold to the Grand Army, awarding a colossal profit to the manufacturer,” she went on, before pausing. She look at her colleagues for a moment, some of them with dawning realization and others with glares of shocked rage.

“A manufacturer who happens to no contribute great amounts of credits to certain Senators. Senators who seemed very firmly against further discussion of this matter, and possess stock in said manufacturer,” she wound up for the finale.

“Therefore,” she continued, pulling up the list of names for all to see on their screens, “I charge the listed Senators with corruption, and motion for them to be suspended from office pending investigation, and their votes to be discounted from today’s session, including retroactively,” she concluded.

A chorus of voices all cried out, and for a moment Jayn thought she had started a riot. Cal’i tried to call order, but the Senators ignored her, screaming accusations and protests at the top of their lungs.

Finally, the Chancellor spoke.

“ _ **ORDER**._ ” She boomed out.

Two syllables from a single voice, and yet it drowned out the noise of the entire Senate Hall and quieted the room. The Supreme Chancellor placed her arms on the top of her podium and addressed the Senate.

“The Senator has motioned,” she declared, her voice a grave kind of quietly loud. The room remained silent for a heartbeat.

“I second,” a voice rang out. Jayn looked - it was Ampora who spoke. He was looking at her, his face unreadable - but she could tell he was emotional in some way.

“The motion is seconded,” the Chancellor repeated. She looked at Jayn, and then out across the rest of the Senate. “As Supreme Chancellor, invested with executive power by my peers and fellow Senators, I elect to exercise that executive power to approve the Senator’s motion,” she announced. “Remove the charged Senators from the Hall,” she ordered. According to the Galactic Constitution, questions of whether a Senator’s place in the Senate was legitimate were decided, temporarily, by the Chancellor, pending the Supreme Court’s own deliberation. But for now, the Senate Guards took the charged Senators, some of them complying, some of them resisting, out of the Hall. Now was Jayn’s chance.

“If that is the case,” Jayn said, “then I would like to conclude my business, and motion for a recount of the vote on the most previous motion.”

Now the Chancellor turned to her sister, handing the reins back to the Vice Chair.

“The Senator motions for a recount,” Cal’i repeated.

“Seconded,” Ampora bursted out almost instantly.

“The motion is seconded. The recount will commence,” Cal’i declared. Recounts only took 60 seconds - no chance to deliberate very much when you were supposed to already know how you were voting.

The new results were in.

“By a count of 51.02% to 49.98%, the motion passes,” she declared.

Jayn saw Ampora sigh in relief, and cheers went around the Senate to celebrate the Resistance Nation’s progression to the next phase of acceptance into the Republic proper. Jayn did not cheer, but sighed herself - she had done it. Two birds with one stone - not only did she bust those slime weasels, she managed to get some good done in the Hall, instead of just undoing the bad. She turned to SEB, who, despite not having the capacity for facial expression, seemed a bit grim. Still, he said nothing.

Jayn turned her attention back to the Senate as Cal’i called order. She went over the protocol and procedure for the Resistance Nation from here, but Jayn didn’t pay much attention. She would once the Senate got back to business, old or new, but for right now, she had to collect herself and calm her frayed nerves. She had just suckerpunched the Senate’s ring of corruption and spat in its face. She had almost definitely earned enemies, and while they were out of the Senate for now, who knew how much clout they still had. In fact, she may not have incriminated everyone who was now displeased with her… which meant that she was going to be facing some interesting times in the future.

But for now, right now, she had won. And she was going to keep winning.

And she was willing to count a decent meal for the Republic’s best as a great start to this victory streak.


	7. The Marine

“We’ve got another wave, sir,” Corporal Kornis stated plainly, looking out with his binoculars

“ _ Another _ one?” The sergeant asked. This was the fourth one today.

“Yes, sir.”

“Damned bastards, don’t know when to _fucking_ _quit_ ,” the sergeant swore.

This was the third day in a row that Skullbreaker Platoon had been pinned down at their location. Twenty-five of some of the Republic’s best marines, held tightly down to a tower just half a klick away from their target. For the third day in a row, they had dealt with wave after wave of hostile units assaulting their position. It was as their commanding officer feared:

They were starting to break a sweat - which didn’t look good on their combat uniforms.

He took Kornis’ binoculars and took a look for himself. Sure enough, there was a solid company-sized group of insurgents heading for them along the canyon floor. There was plenty of cover for them to be using, but these weren’t trained soldiers, nor special operations units. They weren’t trying to be sneaky, they were trying to root out the marines that had been bunkered down in this damned tower for the past few days. That only amounted to making them prime targets for shooting practice. The sergeant handed the binoculars back, and turned to the soldier a few feet away to his left on the tower’s top, holding a sniper rifle with his spotter, Archangel, next to him.

“Fire at will, Snipes,” he ordered. “Teach them to use their damn cover.”

As the sniper opened fire, Staff Sergeant Jake Ang’lysh took another look down the canyon towards their target. They had taken this tower three days ago from the forward garrison stationed here to protect it, after sneaking down this deep canyon to avoid being detected. Unfortunately, once they captured the tower, the enemy fortification at the end of the canyon sent a force out to besiege them. Ever since, they’ve been trapped - they couldn’t go back without losing ground, and they couldn’t go forward without being shot. They couldn’t deploy right at the target fortification, because they would’ve been shot down or otherwise neutralized right away, so they had to go about it the hard way. Fortunately, their  _ real _ target couldn’t get away either, because unlike the marines, these insurgents didn’t have any air support.

Air support the Staff Sergeant had been waiting on for three days on.

They had been sent here to Alax III, a rocky moon full of trenches and canyons and mesas, to track down and capture a leading member of the Alaxian Secession Movement, a violent group of separatist rebels who were trying to spark a full civil war within the Alaxian Monarchy. The Secessionists were Imperial sympathizers who felt that the Republic and it’s laws requiring the existence of democratic institutions in its member states was destroying the “true” monarchy of their people with things like parliament and constitutions, and that in order to protect their ancient traditions they had to join the Empire. 

Naturally, nobody except the Secessionists were fond of this idea, and so it was decided that they would be put down. While the Alaxians weren’t a very weak nation, the Secessionist rebellion kept their hands full, and the Secessionist high command eluded capture. Unfortunately, since it was technically a domestic affair, the Grand Army of the Republic could not officially intervene, and the Senate was too busy with its own (legitimate and otherwise) affairs to allow official permissions to do so. The Jedi Order, also, did not seem to have enough Knights to spare for the situation. Fortunately, there was always a way around such a problem, and Admiral Netri of the 5th Fleet, from which the Skullbreakers operated, placed them “on loan” to Alax to help resolve the situation. They were one of the Navy’s best special operations units in the marine corps, and were sent to handle the matter efficiently. They weren’t expecting this much resistance, however, and so without air support found themselves in their current bind.

Jake had sent a message back to the 5th Fleet, requesting air support that could fly into a canyon with flak. Now, what he said was “a squadron that can fly straight into a canyon only a few klicks across with anti-aircraft fire,” but what he meant - and knew the admiral understood he meant - was a very particular group of crack pilots led by a very particular commander, whom he knew wouldn’t refuse a request to help him out. Would he hear the end of it any time soon? Probably not. But she, and her boys, were the only ones he trusted to bail him out of this situation.

“Uh, sir?” Kornis piped up, drawing Jake’s attention.

“What is it, corporal?” He asked.

“We’ve got more on the way…” Kornis reported.

Jake walked over towards the end of the canyon, where the fort was, to get a better view. Sure enough, there was more heading for them - even as Snipes continued picking off infantry while still out of range of their blasters, Jake could see another wave coming. And this one wasn’t just infantry - they had armor with them. Light armor, but armor. He frowned - the platoon had used up the last of their heavy ordinance last time they sent armor. They didn’t have any way of directly countering those tanks aside from some bold action.

Fortunately, boldness defined the Skullbreakers.

“Snipes, you and Archangel stay here and give us cover. Everybody else is gonna be out on the ground,” he explained, before heading for the stairs that descended into the tower. The majority of the platoon was on the level just below him.

“Alright, everybody, listen up, cause we don’t have a lot of time!” Jake shouted. His men all stood up - not at attention, but stood up - and had their eyes trained on him. He had tanned skin and a scar on his cheek, a rough haircut with the top pressed back under his helmet, and stubble on his jaw. His combat uniform was comprised of a red flexiarmor shirt and tac-vest with flexiarmor pants, all of which matched the crimson canyon walls. His dark green eyes examined his men within the visor of his helmet - they were more antsy than tired, waiting for something to do. He was about to give it to them.

“We’ve got about half a company out there with the rocks, and another on the way with armor, five light tanks. We’ve got nothing heavy enough to shoot with, but a _shit_ _ton_ of everything else. That means we’re not gonna have a chance to hit them hard, so we’re gonna have to get in close and get tactical,” he explained in his commanding officer’s voice. 

“Corporal Kornis has the charge of Cover Team, Corporal Yet’op has the charge of Support Team, Fire Team’s with me. Cover Team, your objective is to take the area directly in front of the tower’s exit and maintain suppressing fire against approaching enemies. Support Team, your objective is to out flank the enemy and distract hostile infantry. Fire Team, we’re moving in close and giving a nice warm Skullbreaker greeting to the crews inside those tanks. We’re moving out in 10 seconds and on my mark, get ready,” he ordered. Instantly the men locked up and loaded themselves, breaking into their teams and following their leaders downstairs to the door.

Kornis had point, Cover Team behind him. Sergeant Ang’lysh stood right next to the door, hand on the console to open it. Cover would fan out, followed by Support, then he’d slide in with Fire as they ran out. He waited a second to give everyone a chance to think everything through, then slammed the console and slid the door open.

Kornis ran out, his men following. Yet’op right after. Jake dashed out with his team, blaster rifle in hand and a belt full of ammo and goodies for their targets.

By the time Jake was out there, the first wave was already dead - Kornis’ team and Snipes had already seen to that. Cover Team had already taken their positions and were firing at will at the approaching enemy, while Support Team moved behind them towards the flanks. Jake led Fire Team towards the tanks and signaled them to break up, fanning out wide around the rocks for cover, ducking beneath the suppressive fire of Cover Team and the enemy, squatting right below the crossfire.

Jake held up his open hand as he crouched in front of a rock for cover, to tell Fire Team to hold steady, watching Support Team move up foot by foot. Once he saw them on each flank open up, he knew the time had come. He signaled for Fire Team to advance, and slid around his rock to face the enemy.

He opened fire on the infantry who were focused on Support Team, blasting three insurgents out of the fight for good. He then turned to the tank in front of him, which turned its main cannon to face him. Dashing right up to it, he hopped onto the hovering vehicle, ducking below the barrel of the cannon. He looked over, and saw members of Fire Team doing the same for the other tanks.  He crawled up, staying within the tank’s deadzone, towards the hatch that lead to the interior. Infantry units blasted at him, green bolts of plasma streaking by. He stayed prone down on the tank, and fired at the hostiles, suppressing them. He spoke into his helmet’s communicator.

“Support Team, I’m taking fire, cover me!” He shouted. In seconds, blaster fire from Support Team concentrated on his targets, and he found a lot less bolts heading for him. He turned his attention back to the tank, crawling for the hatch, when an explosion rocked his ears. He look over and saw that one tank had fire and smoke coming from inside of it, a few Skullbreakers dashing away from it for cover. Another few dashed from another tank, which detonated internally. Good, things were going nice and smooth.

He crawled up to the hatch as the roar of battle continued, and plucked a nice round thermal detonator from his belt. These babies cost 2,000 credits to produce and made tiny little stars that could burn through just about anything with enough force to dent durasteel plating. He gripped the hatch, threw it open, primed the grenade, tossed it in, and then jumped from the tank before dashing away from it. The explosion behind him said that it worked.

Once he was safe behind cover again, he looked back to see what the situation was. He heard no more blasters going off, and saw no un-detonated tank. His rush-and-raze tactic had worked - the enemy just didn’t have enough time to respond to the sudden surge. It was a brazen, risky tactic, but it was a gamble that paid off well.

“All hostiles neutralized - report, any casualties?” He asked into his comm.

“We’ve got six wounded, nothing bad, though. Some first aid and recovery and they’ll be operational, sir,” he heard someone report back. Six out of twenty-five - that was a 24% wounded rate. But more importantly, a 0% KIA rate. And nobody was going to be retired from service - Jake counted this one up as a solid victory.

“Sir… you’re not gonna like this…” he heard Archangel report through his comms. Jake groaned.

“More?” He asked.

“A  _ lot _ more. And they’ve got at least twelve tanks,” the spotter reported.

Twelve tanks and “a lot more” infantry, and he was down to 75% strength with six wounded. This was going to be a tough one.

And then he noticed some vaguely X-shaped figures in the air in the distance, flying in an immaculately and dangerously tight formation through the canyon - which most pilots would consider impossible to fly in with more than a few ships, yet now had an entire squadron in it.

“This is Atom Leader to Skullbreakers, wondering what the hell you think you’re doing dragging my boys and I all the way out here,” Jake heard in his helmet. He laughed and smiled in relief - that bitch of a pilot knew how to make an entrance.

“Great timing, coz,” he remarked. “We’ve got a big ol’ company of armor heading for us, think you can give them a nice Atom Squadron greeting for us? We spent a lot on our last welcome wagon,” he said, watching with admiration as the ARC fighters approached rapidly.

“Typical, always throwing everything at the first sign of trouble,” Atom Leader responded. “And that’s  _ Commander Har-bert _ to you, Sergeant,” she corrected. She got a lot of shit for “playing favorites” when it came to her cousin, and didn’t like it when anything fanned that shit-fueled fire, such as informality between the two while in the field.

“Sorry, Commander,” Jake apologized, “Would you be so kind as to neutralize these armored targets and their infantry escorts for us?”

“Of course, Sergeant. We’d be happy to oblige,” she responded. 

The ARC-181’s screeched overhead, rocketing towards the enemy forces as anti-aircraft rounds erupted around them. Despite this, they maintained immaculate formation even with evasive maneuvers, and dropped their payloads onto the enemy. By the time they pulled up and out of the canyon and away from the flak, there was nothing but smoke and rubble remaining.

“We’ll be buzzing around if you need another run, Sergeant,” Atom Leader promised.

“Thanks, Commander, I appreciate it,” Jake answered. He turned to his men.

“Alright boys, I think it’s been nice having that vacation in that there tower, but what’s say we get back to work and nab us a rebel?” He shouted out. His men gave a solid “oo-rah” in response, and Jake turned to lead them towards the fort, moving at a brisk walking pace among his men.

As they passed the wreckage of the last wave, halfway to the fort now, the platoon looked around to admire Atom Squadron’s work. One of them paused to grin cruelly at one insurgent’s corpse, burnt by the proton torpedoes. Jake saw, and paused to watch what the soldier did.

“Not so sure about that whole Empire thing now, huh, shitstain?” The soldier sneered, before hocking some spit onto the corpse.

Jake charged the marine, and grabbed him by the scruff.

_ “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing you son of a bitch, _ ” he growled. The soldier was suddenly terrified - his commanding officer was gripping him and snarling in his face, and he didn’t know why.

“I… I…” the soldier mumbled. Jake shook him for good measure.

“We are not _bandits_ or _pirates_ , soldier. We are not _scum_. We are _above_ that. That soldier _died_ for what he believed in, just as much as you and I signed up to do. Just ‘cause he died on the other side doesn’t mean you get to disrespect him, or _any other_ soldier you _ever_ come across. I don’t give a hootin’ hot _damn_ **_what_** side they’re fighting for, _do you understand, soldier??_ ” He shouted, shaking the soldier more.

“Y-y-yes, sir! Sorry, sir! Never again, sir!” The soldier stammered. Jake shoved him onto the ground.

“ _ Good _ . I see that shit again, you’re out of my platoon,” he warned, before walking away to resume the march to the fort. He didn’t tolerate such behavior from his men - they were members of the Grand Army of the Republic’s Marine Corps. They had more than training, they had honor. And he’d be damned if he saw that honor spat on or disrespected by any of  _ his  _ men.

As they approached the fort, he felt a vibration at his belt. He took out his holo-communicator, and saw that it was receiving a general-channel transmission, apparently from the fort. He took the call, and saw the armored figure of an insurgent officer - the one he had been sent to capture - appear.

“This is Staff Sergeant Ang’lysh, Republic Navy Marines,” Jake answered.

“Sergeant - I am glad you chose to accept my parley,” the officer greeted. “I noticed that your air support has apparently arrived. I am General Trelexi, of the Alaxian Secession Movement Army.

“What do you want, General?” Jake asked. The officer paused for a moment.

“I want to negotiate surrender,” he admitted. “You’ve neutralized half of my forces, and now you have air dominance to boot,” he continued. “I want to know how I can spare the lives of my men - we all would die to free our king from the shackles of the Republic, but it is better to live to fight on than to die a pointless death.”

This wasn’t something Jake was used to - but he rolled with it. He was the commanding officer here, and as such he was the representative responsible for negotiating these things.

“You will disarm, and surrender yourselves to Alaxian custody. That’s all there is to it,” Jake explained.

“Alaxian custody? Not Republic?” Trelexi asked.

“No. This rebellion of yours is an internal affair. My men and I are on loan to the Alaxian government to handle this Alaxian problem, so you’ll be under Alaxian control.”

“...Very well. We will contact the Republicans and inform them of our surrender,” the General ceded. Jake knew what he was thinking - they could be freed by their comrades and resume fighting if they remained in Alaxian space. But that wasn’t Jake’s concern - he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but he knew it was out of his hands regardless. He was just a marine, he couldn’t end a war or rebellion by himself. Not ethically.

Besides. He had faith that these warriors would realize that they were beaten and allow peace to return.

And if not, he’d be back to show them the error of their ways. With force if it came to that.

“You do that. I’ll make sure to check in with them, just to verify you’re actually holding up your honor,” Jake warned.

“Of course, Sergeant,” The General dryly responded before hanging up. Jake didn’t know what to make of that. One of his marines, a greenhorn in the platoon, approached him.

“Sir, respectfully, I say we just call in the Atoms one more time and ash the place for good measure,” the marine suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Jake summarily answered.

“Why not, sarge?” The marine asked. “Why not just wipe ‘em out to be sure they don’t play dirty?”

“Because, marine,” Jake warned, his tone and expression darkening as he got very close to the soldier. “We’re Republic marines. And that’s not how the Republic does things. You want to ‘be sure’ and slaughter a garrison that’s surrendered, ‘for good measure’, you go and enlist with the Empire. Cause if I hear talk like that again, you’re out of here,” he underlined. He had to go over this with his platoon frequently, especially greenhorns. He wasn’t like a lot of NCOs - he actually rigidly enforced GAR ethics in his unit. For most, the vow of ethics were a bunch of words you recited after enlisting - for him, and anybody who served under him, it was a way of life. As far as he was concerned, it’s what made his platoon one of the best in the Navy.

Sure, he questioned those ethics sometimes, wondered if he really was doing the right thing. But while Kornis radioed for transport back to the fleet, Jake looked at the fort they had just captured without another life lost. He thought about all the lives in there he may have just spared from so many horrors, never mind dying. He thought of the insurgent body one of his men had defiled, how that soldier died just as bravely as Jake and his soldiers knew they might.

And he knew, without a doubt, that those ethics were one of the only things that helped him sleep at night.


	8. The Sentinel

“I’m sorry, but I can’t, and you shouldn't, either,” the Jedi answered. She was on a holo-call in her private chambers in the Jedi Temple. The man on the other side of the line had messy black hair with goggles up on his forehead, mashing down his bangs. He was a good friend, and a good man. At the moment, he was halfway to the edge of the galaxy in the Mid Rim, along the outer worlds of Imperial space, in orbit around a world freshly conquered by the Empire and in the throes of rebellion and resistance. He was delivering goods from the Republic, and was requesting her to join him on his next mission, for which he ‘could use some extra hands, especially hands with a lightsaber’.

“Rokz, come on, this is right up your alley,” the man prodded. “You’re a Sentinel, you’re all about this kind of sneaky business.”

“Jon, you’re talking about boarding an Imperial outpost and stealing Imperial intelligence. You’d cause a major falling out between the Republic and Empire, at best, and if they had reports of a _Jedi_ with you…” she argued. In truth, she _did_ want to help, but the risks were so great, and she had other matters to tend to.

“Rokz, if I don’t get _some_ kind of intel on these patrol patterns, I’m gonna end up either dead or starting a war, or _both_. I’m swinging back home to Anaxes for a few days after this run is over, I’ll be a quick jump away from Coruscant in a week. After I’ve spent my hard-earned creds, I’m running this mission, with or without you,” he promised. Rokzi sighed. He was always so stubborn when it came to doing his job.

“I’ll think about it, Jon. No promises,” she answered.

“Fair enough. I’ll talk to you when I’m back in the Core. Stay safe,” he requested. She shook her head and smiled.

“I was about to tell you the same thing,” she remarked. He smiled back at her before the call cut. She sighed - Captain Jon Har-bert didn’t know the first thing about being safe. It came with being a smuggler - it was a job that revolved around taking risks. Before she could ruminate further about her friend’s lack of self-preservation in the face of the greater good, she heard a knocking at her door, and rose up. She waved her hand, using the Force to raise the blinds in her room, filling it with the evening light of the city, exposing the simple comforts of a Jedi - a bed, a cushion for meditation, a desk with a terminal, and a small chest for storage, all with the unadorned pale yellow of the Temple stone.

Rokzi herself wore the traditional tan clothing of the Order, with a single layer of pink in an effort to lend her own customization to her attire. While such personalization was no forbidden by any means, it at times awarded her some judgmental glares from the more crotchety members of the Order. She didn’t pay them any mind - her master had taught her that while Jedi could not allow themselves personal attachments, the Force embraced every living thing for who and what they were, and trying to blend in disrespected that diversity. Even today, Rokzi held true to that lesson, down to the crystal in her lightsaber…

The purple crystal Master Evalyn had given to her in the caves of Ilum, when she was a Padawan. From the same vein of crystals that Evalyn’s own saber crystal was taken from.

The repeated knocking at her door tore her away from the memory. It was for the better - Master Evalyn was… a painful topic for Rokzi. Pain led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to the dark side. Honoring her master’s teachings, she took in a deep breath, and released it, along with all the negativity in her heart. She approached the door and pressed the button to slide it open. On the other side was a familiar face and well-trimmed pale hair, unlike her own curly mess.

“Roze,” Rokzi greeted with a smile, “it’s so good to see you!”

Roze smiled back at her. “It’s lovely to see you, as well, Rokzi. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she apologized. Rokzi waved her hand in refusal.

“Absolutely not, I always have time to speak with you, my friend,” she assured. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

Roze looked around, and then stepped back, her arm out invitingly. “Would you like to take a walk around the Temple, Rokzi?” She offered. Rokzi knew what that meant - something had happened. This wasn’t just a personal visit.

“Of course, Roze,” Rokzi accepted, stepped out of her room and shutting the door behind her. She followed Roze down the corridor of this part of the dormitory area to the elevator before entering. Roze pressed the button to send them to the main level of the Temple. As they shot up, Roze glanced over at Rokzi, who had gone back to reflecting on Master Evalyn.

“I sense your lingering grief, Rokzi,” Roze said. She was always sensing this and that - she liked to think she was so much more down to earth than the rest of the Order, but Consulars _always_ went snooping around people’s emotions. She was no exception. Rokzi merely sighed a bit.

“I am doing my best to move on,” Rokzi answered. “I am doing… better,” she went on. It had been an entire year since their mutual master had been laid to rest in the catacombs of the Temple. Rokzi had been chastised by some Masters for her display of emotion during the funeral, but not even so many years of Jedi training could keep the tears back. She had been too attached. And she had tried so hard to break that attachment, but even know it squirmed inside of her like a parasite. Roze placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“I miss her, too…” was all she said.

Rokzi knew it was true - how painful must it be for Roze, who hadn’t even been knighted before their master died. At least Roze didn’t carry Rokzi’s regrets - she hadn’t been the best Padawan. Roze at least got to study under Master Evalyn in her prime, and didn’t carry the same shame of disrespect. Rokzi felt the tears crawling their way to existence, and began exercising breath meditation. Roze noticed this, and removed her hand from her friend’s shoulder.

When the elevator reached the main level, Rokzi had regained control of her emotions, and the two of them stepped out into the dramatically lit corridors. They were on the western side of the Temple, where the twilight sun poured in through the tall, narrow windows to create a beautiful sunbeam effect. Roze led as Rokzi followed her, stepping into and out of the light as they went.

“Have you been paying attention to the news at all?” Roze inquired. It was obviously a set up to whatever business she had to discuss.

“Of course, Roze. It’s important for a Sentinel to be aware of the going-ons of the galaxy,” Rokzi answered.

“Have you heard about the recent events at Representative Ampora’s residence?” Roze went on.

“You mean the assassin you intercepted? If you’re trying to get me to join the case, I don’t know how wise that’d be,” Rokzi anticipated. She had heard all about the attempted assassination in Ampora’s penthouse, as well as the investigation surrounding it. Coruscant Security already had an investigative force looking into it, as well as an Alternian detective who asked the Representative to be placed on the case. As such, a Jedi, even a Jedi Sentinel, trying to involve themselves in the matter might be… negatively received.

“It would be perfectly wise - a Jedi Sentinel has training, skills, and abilities available to no other investigators. You would provide Coruscant Security with a breath of fresh air with everything you have to offer them,” Roze argued.

“Roze, they have the situation handled, and Dayv’s recent, erm, ‘intervention’ in CSF affairs has already made things between the Jedi and Security Force a bit… tense,” Rokzi noted. Dayv had only meant well, of course, but his insistence on being a part of the raid that won him those artifacts was brash and also earned him a lecture on patience from the Council.

“This is _different_ , Rokzi,” Roze insisted. “Dayv forced his way into that raid and nearly made a mess of it, and made a fool of himself in the process. You’re offering your assistance to the investigation, that’s all. I just _know_ that they’ll work better with you involved.”

“That’s what Master Evalyn though about Darrik,” Rokzi countered. Roze stopped and turned to face Rokzi fully, the two of them facing each other in the shadow between windows as fellow Jedi walked by them, ignoring their conversation to focus on their own business.

“Rokzi…” Roze responded.

“She thought that she could just talk to him, she just _knew_ that he would be better if she just got involved,” Rokzi listed off fervently. “She just _knew_ that all he needed was the gentle care of a friend who 'knew' what she was doing. And where did that put us?”

“Rokzi, please -”

“One dead Master, one fallen Jedi gone off to who knows where, and four Knights who suddenly don’t know what to do with themselves,” Rokzi concluded, her voice dry and shaking.

“ _Rokzi_ ,” Roze insisted. Rokzi sighed, taking in a deep breath and rubbing her temple.

“I’m sorry, Roze. This isn’t the same situation, I just...” Rokzi apologized. Roze placed a hand on her arm.

“I sense so much pain and grief inside of you, Rokzi… I just think it’d be best if you got out of the Temple and devoted your attentions to something more productive,” Roze explained. “Remember Master Evalyn’s teachings. It’s better to let passions burn out as you use them to do good, than to let them smolder and burn until they turn your will to ash,” she reminded. Rokzi sighed again, knowing she was right.

“I suppose I can at least offer my services,” she conceded. “I’ll probably be able to figure out who the assassin was and track his e-records better and quicker than CSF, anyway. They’re always looking for personal correspondences first, as if assassins settle contracts over texts. I can get right into the guy’s financial accounts and find out who paid him, no problem,” she figured. Roze giggled a bit.

“So sure in your abilities?” She inquired. Rokzi smiled a bit.

“Most financial institutions don’t think too much about customer security beyond username and password. Datamine the guy’s access point, find out the last time he logged into his bank accounts, nab the data from there. Nobody ever thinks to use the access point, they’re always trying to do it remotely when they’ve got everything they need right there. It makes everything a lot harder when you have to get admin privileges to see client data and find out what his client ID number is,” she explained. Sentinels were all trained in a wide array of skills to assist in their investigative work, and Rokzi had a talent for computer systems.

“Besides,” she went on, “I was trained by the best.”

Roze smiled again, before resuming their walk, gesturing for Rokzi to follow. Now Rokzi was a bit confused again - if Roze wanted to keep walking, that meant she had more to talk about.

“There is… something else,” Roze admitted.

“I had figured as much,” Rokzi replied. “What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about Dir’k,” she answered.

That came as a surprise to Rokzi. Dir’k kept to himself most of the time, whenever he wasn’t on a mission. The last time he was even out of the Temple was to escort that Skaian Senator to Coruscant - and that was months ago. He spent all of his time either in his room, in some corner of the Archives studying, or in the Temple’s workshop producing new machinery or making repairs to the Temple’s. The only other Jedi he spent much time around since his Master’s fall was Rokzi, and even then it took months for him to feel comfortable being around the apprentice of the woman Darrik had killed. Why Roze had given much thought to him at all was beyond even Rokzi’s deductive powers.

“I… see…” Rokzi prompted. What was Roze getting at?”

“I feel like you should take him with you for this investigation,” she explained. “He needs a chance to get out of the Temple, too. I sense he’s dealt with… last year’s events, worse than the rest of us.”

“What makes you say think getting out the Temple will help him? He seems to be devoting plenty of time to healthy pursuits,” Rokzi noted. Still, she could feel deep down that Roze had a point - Dir’k was… troubled. She could tell from when she first met him when they were Padawans. If he seemed to be stable and healthy, he very well could be just hiding very deep-rooted problems, even beyond the senses of other Jedi.

“Distractions, more like,” Roze replied. “He needs more than a distraction, and more than a simple challenge. He needs to be out there, doing something. He needs to be reminded that he’s a Jedi Knight,” Roze argued. While Rokzi felt like she may have had a point, something about it didn’t sit with her. She sensed that Dir’k needed to handle things in his own way, on his own time. He already had plenty of other people in the Order spreading rumors about him - she didn’t want to add to that by getting him involved in an already somewhat questionable endeavor.

“I will ask if he would be interested in joining me,” Rokzi compromised. “If he says no, I won’t press it.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose,” Roze ceded.

They were now at the other end of the corridor, looking out at the city as night started to descend on it. The stars were invisible thanks to the immense light pollution, but the twinkling brightness of the city made up for it. Rokzi basked in the sight, allowing herself a moment of comfort and peace with her close friend. She and Roze stood there in silence, observing the city at a distance, simply taking in the view. Finally, Rokzi turned to Roze.

“Roze?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever feel like… you’re not doing enough? Like you need to stop being afraid, and just… do more? For the Republic, for the Order, for the galaxy?” Rokzi asked. Roze thought for a few seconds.

“Yes. All the time.”

The two of them said nothing more than that. They stood there for several more minutes in silence. Soon, they would part to rest for the night, and the next day would bring new challenges.

But for right now, they kept each other company, standing in mutual impotence as it felt like all of their efforts would amount to nothing if they didn’t break from the routine calmness the Council had kept the Order in, despite the recent chaos with the Empire. Rokzi’s thoughts turned back to her friend in the Mid Rim.

Jon’s plan was foolish and brash. But it was more than the Council was doing. And for Rokzi, that was enough.


	9. The Prodigy

_Swipe right, dodge left, strike, parry with off-hand, counter…_

The sparring room of the Jedi Temple was always a busy enough place, but today was the day of the week one of its regulars visited - and brought with him his sparring partners, freshly re-imagined and repaired from the workshop a level below. He fought with them, using his real lightsabers against their training sabers that left no more than a mild burn. One of them was tall and agile, the other was short and strong - to give diversity to his sparring sessions. It always awarded him odd glances from other Jedi, who never used droids for training aside from sensor droids.

Of course, Dir’k couldn’t tell if the glances were because of his droids, or because of him.

As he swung his yellow lightsaber against Squarewave, the short one, he waved his orange short-lightsaber - or shoto - at Sawtooth, the tall one, parrying another blow. He immediately spun around to strike with his main hand at Sawtooth, who ducked down to avoid it, before moving his offhand to block the tall droid’s counterstrike. Squarewave swung for Dir’k, who blocked the blow with his main hand. Now he stood between the two enemies, their sabers interlocking. Here was a chance to test out that new move he had developed.

Shoving his lightsabers away, swatting the droids back, he spun around to build power, then forced his hands out, guiding the power of the Force with them in an explosive two-way shockwave that sent the droids into the walls. Their sabers deactivated, signaling his victory over them. He looked to his left, and saw a few Knights glaring at him. He almost thought they’d say something at the somewhat brutal technique, but they shortly returned to sparring with each other.

Dir’k’s brows furrowed, before he turned to examine Sawtooth for damage. As he looked over the droid’s components, he thought about the countless times his fellow Knights _did_ speak up. He was too reckless, his techniques too savage, his styles were sloppy. He tried to keep an even head with them, given the prevailing opinion of him in the Order caused by his former master’s own… departure. He tried to explain that he wasn’t _reckless_ , he was calculated; his techniques weren’t _savage_ , they were _efficient_ ; his styles weren’t _sloppy_ , they were _modified_. But no matter how much he tried explaining, they didn’t listen - they didn’t care. He was the student of a fallen master, and as far as they were concerned, everything he did was somehow violating the code and spirit of the Order.

He didn’t care, though. As he confirmed Sawtooth had a broken spinal link, but no other damage, he went to check Squarewave. Even these two droids made the Order suspect him - ‘too much time with things untouched by the Force’, they’d say of him. He tried explaining that even the flow of energy and power through the droids made them somewhat touched by the Force, but that idea was found to be… frankly, ridiculous, by his fellow Jedi. When he realized that such assertions only enflamed the rumors about him, he stopped trying.

He had stopped trying to do a lot of things when it came to protecting his image in the Order. Dayv might be trying to prove that he’s a Jedi Knight to everyone, but as far as Dir’k was concerned, everybody else could take their pretentious assumptions about him and shove it up their-

Oh, great. Just when he thought Square was fine, he finds a shattered motivator. Most people would have to replace the whole thing, but he had figured out a way to get the motivator operating again. It was a lot cheaper than replacement - and Jedi didn’t have a very large budget per capita - but it’d take him a while to get it done. Oh well. Something to do for the next while that’ll keep him away from judging eyes and gossiping whispers. Whoever thinks Jedi are above pettiness is dead wrong - and that includes the Jedi themselves.

Just then, though, Dir’k saw one of the few exceptions to that statement. Rokzi, her layer of pink showing proudly, leaned against the door nearest to him. He wondered for a second what she was doing in the sparring room, when he realized she was probably looking for him. He stood up, his own layer of orange under his outer layer of robe being accented by the neutral lighting of the room. He wiped his brow of the mild sweat he had worked up from the past few rounds of sparring, and stared at her.

“How long have you been there?” He asked, out of curiosity more than anything else.

“Don’t worry, I saw your new trick. I thought it was smart,” she answered. “Two opponents at once - great for keeping heat off of you for a second for a counter attack or escape.”

“Or ending a fight quickly,” he added, glancing at Sawtooth. The droid’s spinal links were weaker than bone, and it wasn’t like the whole spinal column was broken, but still, it showed how effective the attack would be. He’d reserve it for nasty situations, when it was called for. He looked back to Rokzi.

“I’m sure you’re here to talk about something. Give me a hand and help me carry these two back to the shop, they need work done,” Dir’k stated. Rokzi rolled her eyes with a slight smile and walked over to him, picking up Sawtooth.

“They always need work done,” she noted.

“Keeps me busy,” he retorted, picking up Squarewave.

“Well then you’re going to love to hear what I have to say,” Rokzi replied as the two of them walked out of the sparring room and into the hallway that would lead to the main corridor of this level.

“I’m assuming you have some new project for me to work on,” Dir’k guessed. “It’ll have to wait. Dayv brought back a few holocrons from his big raid with the CSF and I’ve been examining them in the Archive.”

“You actually have access?” Rokzi asked. “I thought they were being kept in the restricted section until the archivists had gone over them.”

“I gave myself access,” Dir’k explained. “They may all think otherwise, but as far as the system is concerned, I’m a Jedi Knight with a right to the Archives. Which means it’s pretty easy for me to put my name into the restricted access list.”

“You hacked into the restricted system?” Rokzi asked, incredulous but keeping her voice down as they entered the main corridor. They were on the second level, two levels above the main floor, and the windows were smaller here. Nonetheless, they could see the nighttime city as they passed by. It was late, but not terribly so.

“Not like the archivists would let me in if I asked,” he answered calmly as they entered an elevator.

“You’re not worried they’ll realize your name shouldn’t be on that list?”

“They’re a bunch of idiots, they’ll assume somebody else gave me access and simmer about it quietly because they’re not allowed to say they don’t like me because of my master.”

“ _Dir’k,_ ” Rokzi warned.

“What? You know it’s true,” he replied as the elevator lurched downward for the level below, where the workshop was.

“You’re just giving them reason to disdain you for _you_ , instead of Darrik,” Rokzi cautioned. “You can’t be so brazen.”

“If all they’re going to do is disdain me anyway, I may as well give them good reason. It doesn’t matter to me. They can’t kick me out of the Order for a system error, especially if they never notice it,” Dir’k assured. Rokzi’s concerned glare made him sigh after a moment. “I’ll take myself off of the restricted access list as soon as I’m done with those holocrons. I’ll even erase history of my access.” Dir’k promised.

“Fine. But please, Dir’k, don’t get yourself kicked out of the Order,” Rokzi pleaded, her tone becoming very sincere. “Despite your history and opinions on the rest of us, there are people here who appreciate you, and your talents as a Sentinel. As a _Jedi_.”

Dir’k stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. He knew Rokzi wouldn’t try to search his feelings with the Force - he had trained himself to resist such intrusions. He didn’t like people snooping around his mind. Finally, he turned away from her as the door opened and he walked towards the workshop, Rokzi following.

“So what is it? What’s this new project?” He inquired.

“It’s actually not a project,” she revealed, “it’s an assignment.”

That made Dir’k pause for a moment. But only a moment, before resuming his pace. Several Jedi on their way to their dormitories eyed them as they walked by - Rokzi and Dir’k were considered a strange friendship, considering the circumstances surrounding their masters.

“What kind of assignment? From who?” He asked. Jedi didn’t take assignments only from the Council, and were given a great deal of autonomy so long as they remained true to the teachings of the Order and didn’t bring dishonor to the Jedi. They got to choose how they pursued the Order’s mission of peacekeeping and justice, and even when the Council gave an assignment a Jedi was free - but discouraged - from refusing.

“Roze pawed it off to me - it’s about the assassin she caught,” Rokzi explained. Dir’k rose an eyebrow.

“You want to get involved with a CSF investigation? After Dayv’s stunt?”

“I want to _offer_ my involvement. If they don’t want me, I won’t press it. And I won’t press you if you’re not interested,” Rokzi clarified.

“I’m not,” Dir’k asserted. “It’s a fool’s errand best left to the morons in CSF to work out. I have other projects to tend to.”

“It’s an attempt on a Senator’s life in a Representative’s quarters, I don’t think that makes it a fool’s errand. And I also don’t think it’s less important than reading through some dusty holocrons,” Rokzi argued as they entered the workshop. Nobody was here - the hour was late for robotics work.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t press me?” Dir’k questioned, side-eying her. Rokzi sighed.

“Fine. I just thought you’d like a chance to get out of the Temple and do some actual Jedi work. Be productive.”

“I’m _being_ productive, right here in the Temple. I don’t have to go chasing dead killers to be productive,” Dir’k calmly stated as he and Rokzi set the droids on a workbench.

“Depends on how you define ‘productive’...” Rokzi mumbled. Dir’k glared at her, his golden-orange eyes piercing her.

“And how do _you_ define productive, Rokzi? Because as far as I’m concerned, developing my skills and knowledge as far as I can is perfectly productive,” he coldly explained. Rokzi’s expression hardened.

“ _I_ define productive as going out there and actually putting those skills to use instead of training and studying to run away from my master’s shadow,” she retorted. That struck a nerve in Dir’k. He didn’t appreciate it when people - not even Rokzi - tried to talk about him and his master. Especially when they accused him of acting like he needed redeeming for his master’s crimes.

“Easy for you to say,” was all he said as he walked out of the room. Rokzi walked after him, but before she could voice her apologies, he saw another figure approaching, with a layer of red in his robes.

“Dir’k, there you are!” the other Jedi remarked. Dir’k knew those pale skin and red eyes, and familiar soft face.

“Dayv, what is it?” Dir’k asked.

“I just - oh, Rokzi, hello!” Dayv greeted when he realized there was another Jedi here. “I’m sorry, I… I need to talk to Dir’k,” he explained.

“It’s fine, Dayv,” Dir’k assured. “You know that Rokzi's a friend.”

“Yes,” Rokzi added. “Whatever you can say in front of Dir’k, you can say in front of me without worry,” she promised. Dayv nodded before turning back to Dir’k.

“Well… I got a message from Sergeant Wayve, the CSF officer I worked with for the smuggler raid,” he explained. “He wants someone who can help him investigate the ring we busted up like an asteroid on starship hull. They want more Jedi than just me on the case, and I figured they could use your skills, because…” Dayv trailed off.

“Because what, Dayv?” Dir’k pressed.

“The contraband they found, it’s… they don’t know where it’s from. It’s nothing the ring should’ve had access to. I’m out of my depth like a Mon Calamari Manta on Jakku, and I thought, well…” He trailed off for another moment. “I thought you could help me out, like the old days.”

Dir’k’s breath caught ever so slightly. Rokzi was probably the only one who noticed it, he thought - she noticed everything about him. Still, Dayv - though he likely didn’t even know it - knew exactly how to yank on Dir’k’s strings. He sighed a bit.

“I’m glad you came to me about this. It’d be best for us to work together on it,” Dir’k said simply. It took a lot for Dayv to show any kind of weakness or humility, and Dir’k was the only person he ever came to for help. Just the same, Dir’k couldn’t find it in him to be cold to his master’s second and final apprentice. He saw Dayv as a little brother - a little brother who had already gone through so much that wasn’t his fault. He tried to help him however he could.

“You’ll join the case, then?” Dayv asked. Dir’k glanced over at Rokzi, whose expression was a mix of remaining apology and encouragement. This was exactly what she wanted in a package she knew he couldn’t refuse - and a twinge of irritation came up in him when he realized that. Still - it was Dayv he was talking about.

“Of course. We’ll meet at the Temple entrance at dawn to get started. Go rest, I’ll see you then,” Dir’k promised.

“Right - thank you, Dir’k,” he expressed, before turning to Rokzi. “We’ll have to catch up some time, Rokzi, it’s been so long…” he remarked. Rokzi smiled.

“Certainly, Dayv. We’ll be in contact soon,” she promised. He merely nodded, wished them a good night, and walked off. Rokzi turned to Dir’k, who regarded her silently.

“Remember what I was saying about people who appreciate you?” She asked.

“Bragging is not the Jedi way,” he observed simply before walking off.

“Neither is hacking into the Archives,” Rokzi retorted.

“Go get some rest, Rokzi,” Dir’k requested, ignoring her snark as he head towards the elevator for the dormitories - he, Dayv, and Rokzi all lived in different wings.

“Dir’k?” he heard her call out. He paused and turned back to see her. Her expression was solemn. It seemed like she had something important to say, but was struggling to say it. He could sense the tension within her, between what she wanted to do and what she felt she should do. He felt it resolve on the side of ‘should’.

“May the Force be with you,” was all she said.

“And also with you,” he answered. “I sense you’ll need it.”

She stared at him for a moment before beginning to turn away.

“We all do,” she replied, before walking away.

Dir’k stood there for a moment, before turning around and heading for the elevator once more.

For some reason, he had a feeling she was more right than he’d want to think.


	10. Epilogue

Somewhere in Imperial space, a man of unfathomable evil and immense cunning walked in the sterile white halls of a Star Dreadnought.

His flesh was as white as the walls around him; his hair, trimmed down and slicked back under his hood, matched; and his eyes, while perhaps having once contained color, were fogged over to the point of being little more than glassy white orbs. Even his robes, somewhat ornate in design, flowed fully white. But this was not the virginal white of purity - this was the pallor of death and ash. Even the troopers and officers who passed the man in the hall could feel the dark aura surrounding him, and walked quickly with their gaze averted.

He did not care much for their fear. If anything, he found it amusing that they thought so much as glancing his way would earn them his fury. He was not as… capriciously cruel, as his ally and ‘master’. While the Emperor would execute an officer for the slightest offence in His Majesty’s sight, this man prefered to apply the power of the dark side in all its subtlest ways.

Finally, he reached his private chambers, the hallway lined with Sith Assassins, his personal entourage of disciples and bodyguards. There were eight of them, each standing at attention, completely clothed in black, including their masks with their red lenses. They held their saber-pikes in one hand, deactivated but still ornate, waiting to be plunged into the flesh of the fool who attempted an attack on the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Closing the door behind him, Darth Scratch drew his hood back, and kneeled before his personal holo-communicator. It illuminated, filling the room with blue light, as the giant image of Lord Caliborn appeared, clad in his red royal paraphernelia as his skull-like face glared down at the Sith Lord.

“Rise, Lord Scratch, and answer for your intrusion into my time,” the Emperor demanded in his deep, gravelly voice. Scratch stood, and addressed the master of the Empire.

“My own preparations are nearly complete, my lord,” Scratch reported, his own voice smooth and calm. “We are prepared to begin our plan in earnest.”

“You are certain it will work?” Lord Caliborn asked, skeptical.

“I promise you, my lord. Our pawns will play their part, and when they realize what their actions have resulted in, their place in our grand designs, it will be far too late for them,” he assured. Caliborn considered this with a scowl.

“Very well. You may proceed,” Caliborn permitted, before his image fizzled out, the channel dropped from his side.

Darth Scratch walked over towards his holo-table and activated it, a map of the galaxy, marked and annotated with the details of his strategy, appearing before him.

As he reviewed his stratagem, and eyed the images of the eight pawns in his plan, he smiled to himself.

This was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have read this fic! Your support means so much and keeps me going! As mentioned in the comments of this fic, this story (as you can see by the epilogue) is only the beginning of a much larger narrative set in this Jedistuck universe. You can continue to follow that narrative here, on AO3, and/or you can follow my new sideblog at starstuckchronicles.tumblr.com! The blog will not only post official entries into the story (you'll see this whole fic up there already!) but also additional entries, ranging from fast-facts talking about the characters and setting to one-shot fics not posted on AO3 that aren't necessarily a part of the main story but show new angles and parts of this galaxy far, far away. There is also an askbox for direct communication with me, the author, to ask about info or request a fic in the AU or even submit ideas for the AU! The next fic will be live within the next week, maybe even tomorrow! Thank you all again for your support and patience, and may the Force be with you!


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